


Ginny's Rebellion

by Skarabrae_stone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Battle of Hogwarts, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Dumbledore's Army, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, House Elves, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Silver Trio, books as canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9600455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarabrae_stone/pseuds/Skarabrae_stone
Summary: Ginny Weasley isn't going to sit around and mope when Harry leaves. Instead, she, Neville, Luna, and Colin Creevey start their own revolution from within Hogwarts. There's more than one way to fight a war.





	1. Seeds of Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny prepares for the upcoming year at Hogwarts, and finds out that Colin Creevey, as a Muggle-born, might not be able to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got the italics working!

She had known Harry would want to spare her. She had also known that it would be no use to explain to him why he _couldn’t_ spare her—that it wouldn’t make a difference to the Death Eaters whether she was the love of his life or just his ex. She was a Weasley, a blood traitor, and Harry’s former girlfriend. Of course she would have a target painted on her back. But Harry was trying to do the noble thing, the _Gryffindor_ thing; it was part of why she loved him, and also what made him so bloody frustrating to love. So she shut up, and let him leave her, let him wrench away another piece of her heart, and laid her plans.

Ginny had no intention of staying safe this year. Harry was off to fight Voldemort on his own terms, on some secret mission from Dumbledore that only Ron and Hermione could help with. If it hadn’t been for the Trace, Ginny might have tried harder to go with them, but as it was, she would only have added to their risk of getting caught. That didn’t mean she couldn’t fight, too.

 _Neville,_ she wrote. _Now the Ministry’s fallen, how much do you want to bet there’ll be some changes at Hogwarts? Nobody from the Order’s telling me anything, so it looks like we’re on our own. Want to make some plans?_

_-Ginny._

The letters to Luna and Colin Creevey were almost identical. Pigwidgeon came back with short responses.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I would be delighted to help destabilize the new regime. Father thinks they’re going to replace Professor McGonagall with a vampire as headmaster. I suggest we bring plenty of garlic. Also, we need to be very careful about our dentistry. With the Aurors now working for the Dark Side, the Rot-Fang conspiracy has surely taken a stronger hold within the Ministry, and they might try it at Hogwarts, too. I shall come up with more ideas when I have more time._

_Love,_

_Luna._

_Ginny—_

_Time to bring the DA back, you reckon?_

_—Neville_

_Hi Ginny,_

_I don’t know if I can come back. I’m Muggle-born, remember? Maybe I can get my family tree updated. But if I do come back to Hogwarts… I’ve got quite the stock of Dungbombs here at home, and Dennis and I have been studying up on Defensive magic. I hope I can come back to Hogwarts and fight alongside you._

_Your Friend,_

_Colin_

Reading Colin’s note, Ginny felt as though a lump of iron had settled in her stomach. The fact that one of her best friends from school might not be able to return hadn’t occurred to her. She went downstairs slowly, clutching the letter in her hand. Her parents were sitting at the table, heads close together, talking in whispers. They both looked up at Ginny’s footsteps.

“Ginny!” Molly’s eyes widened as she took in the look on her daughter’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, Mum.” Ginny glanced at her father. “Dad, could I have a word? When you’re not busy?”

Her parents exchanged looks.

“Why don’t you two go outside?” Molly suggested after a moment. “The house is a bit… crowded… at the moment.”

Arthur got to his feet and beckoned Ginny. About to follow him out the door, she turned. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Nothing to thank me for, dear,” said her mother, but her eyes went to the wall of the kitchen where the clock hung; all nine hands now rested on “Mortal Peril”.

Ginny shivered, and went outside.

“Colin Creevey’s in trouble,” she said without preamble, when they were outside. “He and his brother are Muggle-borns—if something isn’t done, they’ll either have to go on the run or register themselves.”

“They can’t hide, at least, not if they want to use magic,” Arthur pointed out. “They’ll still have the Trace on them. The Ministry’ll be on them like bowtruckles on doxy eggs.”

“I know.” Ginny rubbed her forehead. “And we all know the Muggleborn Registration Commission’s a travesty—if they go in there, they’re not coming out again.”

“What do you want me to do?” His voice was mild, but he had the shrewd look in his eyes that told her he already knew what she was going to ask.

“Isn’t there anyone who can forge a family tree for them?” she asked. “Someone in the Order—one of Dung’s contacts—surely there are people doing it?”

Arthur looked grave. “It’s not something that can just be tossed off in a hurry,” he said. “I know a few people, but… the price is high. And there’s no guarantee it will work.”

“It’s more of a chance than they’ve got now.” Ginny met his eyes. “Dad, if there’s anything that can be done, we have to do it. You know that.”

He sighed and drew her into his arms, ruffling her hair. “Yes, Ginny, I do. Sometimes I wish…” He stood back, patted her shoulder, and smiled wanly. “I’ll do my best, Gin. I promise.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She gave him another quick hug and a warm smile, and headed back into the house. She had more letters to write.

 

It was a couple of days later when Arthur called her downstairs. There were two strangers sitting at the kitchen table: a man and a woman. The man had skin a few shades darker than Harry’s, and light brown hair. His emerald green robes had a lot of embroidery on them, but Ginny could see the stains and worn places that the gold thread was meant to hide. The woman was white, bald, and wore hoop earrings, a leather jacket, and a shirt that showed her belly-button piercing. Ginny, remembering the fight she’d had with her mother the one time she’d bought a belly shirt, felt a little envious.

“Ginny, this is Xavier and Artemis, from the Records Office,” said Arthur. “Artemis, Xavier, my daughter Ginny.” He lowered his voice. “They may be able to assist the Creeveys.”

“Right.” Ginny dropped into a chair. “Let’s hear about it, then.”

The two strangers looked at each other, then at Arthur, as though making sure that they were really supposed to discuss an important matter like this with a teenage girl. Ginny tried to keep her face impassive, but her dad must have seen a warning sign, because he said hurriedly, “I believe it involves a few different steps, is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Artemis, after a moment. “Let’s start at the beginning. Do you know how the Records Office works?”

“I know that’s where they do the Apparition licenses and arrest records and stuff,” Ginny answered. “Do you keep genealogies, too?”

“Sort of.” Xavier tapped his fingers on the table, frowning slightly. “We have records of Hogwarts students—who entered, who graduated—and a lot of the pureblood families have their family trees registered with us. The newer families, immigrants, mixed-bloods—they don’t usually have their family trees down, but we do keep track of Wizarding households, businesses, and, as you said, Apparition licenses. So it’s not that hard to track someone down if you know where to look.”

“Why do you keep track of Wizarding households?”

“It’s for the Statute of Secrecy,” Arthur explained. “The Ministry has to know where magic-users are likely to be, in case of a breach.”

Ginny thought about this. “So what happens if someone’s not in the records? Say they never got an Apparition license, or something.”

“That can happen,” said Artemis, “but it doesn’t happen often. And under the new laws, if your relatives aren’t anywhere in our records, you’re going to have to be examined by the Muggle-born Registration Commission to make sure you aren’t... well, muggle-born.”

“How do we get around it?”  
            Xavier’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think there’s a way to get around it?”

“Why else would you be here?” Ginny retorted.

“Fair point.” Artemis leaned forward. “Here’s the deal. We can forge Apparition licenses and Wizarding household applications, so that when the Records Office makes a masterlist of—er—legitimate wizards—”

“Which it will,” interrupted Xavier.

“Whoever’s got parents, or at least close relatives, in the Apparition records, will be on it.”

“And no one will know?”

“Frankly, nobody is going to care,” said Xavier. “They don’t pay us enough for that, and half the Department has resigned in the past month. We’re understaffed and overworked, and the MRC is a massive headache for all of us. No one’s been through most of this stuff in ages. It’s not going to be noticeable.”

“We can do the forging, and get it into the Records with no one the wiser…” said Artemis.

“But it’s going to cost you.” Xavier looked over at Arthur. “A hundred Galleons per person. Up front.”

“That’s extortion!” Ginny cried.

“That’s business,” Artemis snapped. “Take it or leave it.”

“Ginny…” murmured Arthur. “It’s got to be up to the Creeveys. If it’s worth it to them…”

“Dad, their father’s a milkman, they don’t have this kind of cash. No one does.” Ginny felt ready to cry. For one glorious moment, she’d allowed herself to hope….

“Well, if you’re not interested….” Xavier pushed back his chair.

“Wait!” An idea flashed into Ginny’s mind. She leaned forward. “How hard is the actual forgery part?” she asked.

Artemis’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“If I did the forging—helped you with it—could you bring down the price? Say, by half?”

“Why would we want that?”  
            “You already said you’re overworked.” Ginny’s heart was beating fast. It was hard to keep her voice calm. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just do the Records part? And fifty Galleons just for sneaking some documents in is pretty good. If you taught me how, I could do all the forging for free, and you’d be doing less than half the work.”

The other two looked at each other.

“How good’s your quillwork?” asked Xavier.

“Decent,” Ginny answered. She thought of Dean, whose drawings had been… well, magical… and felt a pang. “My ex-boyfriend taught me how to forge people’s handwriting. We used to do it for fun.”

“Ginny!” Arthur looked both amused and horrified.

“We didn’t ever use it,” said Ginny. “It was just a laugh. But I got pretty good at it.” Her forgeries, she thought, would have fooled Ron—and had, once, when she wrote him a note “from Lavender” for a laugh—or someone similarly unobservant, but Dean… Dean could have outwitted even McGonagall with his perfect copies. Right now, she would give a lot to have that gift. “I’m a quick learner,” she added. “I’m sure I can get it, if you just give me a chance.”

Another exchange of looks. Then Artemis said, slowly, “Alright. We can give you a trial run—but we’ll still want full payment up front. We can discuss a discount if your work is good enough.”

“But—” Ginny started.

“Fifty percent up front,” said Arthur, “And the rest in full if she can’t do the forgeries herself.”

“Seventy-five, and we’ll return twenty-five if she passes muster,” countered Xavier.

“Done.”

The two men shook hands, then Artemis and Xavier shook hands with Ginny, as well.

“We’ll be in touch,” Artemis told them. “Seventy-five Galleons a head, remember.”

Ginny had a sudden, vivid mental picture of the Elf-heads on the walls of Grimmauld Place, and suppressed a shudder. “I have to talk to Colin before anything’s final,” she said.

“Whatever.” The woman rose, and walked to the door. “Send us an owl when you suss it out. But don’t wait too long. I give it a couple of months, maybe three, before they’ve got the records straightened out and the forgeries’ll be a hell of a lot harder to sneak in.”

“I’ll be quick,” Ginny promised.

Xavier winked in a way that wasn’t at all reassuring. “Nice doing business with you.”

He followed Artemis out the door, and a moment later, Ginny heard the bangs of the two Disapparated.

Arthur gave a long sigh. “Well, that was… interesting.”

“Yeah.” She looked at him sidelong. “Sorry about… about dragging you into this, Dad.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s no madder than any of Dumbledore’s schemes.” There was a little silence; then he laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her so he could look her in the eye. “I’m proud of you, Gin,” he said seriously.

Ginny had never been one for crying, but now she could feel tears pricking her eyes. She turned her head away to hide them. “Thanks, Dad.”

He pulled her into a hug, rocking her a little, like he had when she was small, and it occurred to her how strange it was to be the last child at home; the house felt terribly empty with only three people in it, especially after being packed to the rafters for the wedding. She wondered if her parents felt the same.

“Alright.” Arthur pulled away, and gave her a rather watery smile. “We’d best get down to the village, so you can call Colin on the fellytone.”

“Telephone,” Ginny corrected. “Honestly, Dad, it’s like you get it wrong on purpose.”

Her father laughed. “And wouldn’t you like to know? Come on, I’ve got some Muggle money and everything.”

Ginny shook her head, and followed him outside.


	2. Forging  a Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny learns to forge, and realizes that helping the Creevey brothers is just the start.

“Do you think you could do Ritchie Coote, too?” Colin’s voice was crackly through the beat-up payphone. “He’s a Muggle-born.”

Until now, Ginny hadn’t thought about doing this for anyone other than the Creeveys, but she didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I’ll send Pig over once he’s gotten back from Luna.”

“Probably easier to call him,” said Colin. “I’ll get you his number."

“Number. Right.” Ginny leaned against the wall of the booth, fiddling with the cord of the phone. She could hear a rustling sound coming through the line. “Do you have the Patil twins’ number, too? I’m pretty sure their parents are Muggles.”

“No,” said Colin. “They’re over in Lancashire, that’s the other side of the country from me.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? You’ve got Ritchie’s number.”

A sigh riffled through the phone. “That’s because we live near each other, Ginny. He’s in the phone book.”

“Phone book?”

“It’s a book that’s got everyone’s numbers in it, but only in a certain area,” Colin said with exaggerated patience. “Alright, I’ve got Ritchie. Do you have a pen ready?”

Ginny patted her pockets, found a battered quill, and leaned out of the booth. “Dad, do you have any ink?”

Arthur shook his head. “I can Apparate back for it, if you want.”

“Hang on a sec.” She held the phone to her ear again. “I’m sorry, Colin, I didn’t think to bring an ink bottle with me. Dad can go get some if you hold on a minute.”

There was a short pause. “You know,” said Colin, “I love magic and everything, but you wizards sure make things complicated sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remind me to introduce you to pencils sometime.” He took a deep breath. “OK, I’ll call Ritchie. I’ll see if I can get in touch with some of the other Muggle-borns, too.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t?”

“I can’t right now. I have to go to the library and use one of their computers.”

Ginny sighed. “Should I even ask?”

“Probably not. Look, I’ll get back to you on this, but the other Muggle-borns might not be able to afford the family trees. Seventy-five Galleons is a lot of money.”

“Fifty, if I get good at forging.”

“Yeah.” His voice didn’t carry much enthusiasm. “I’ll send an owl to Gringotts to transfer the money into your account. Then you can pay off the Records people. I’ll let you know if I hear from any other Muggle-borns.”

“OK.” She hesitated. “Colin… stay safe out there, okay?”

“Yeah. Take care.”

The line went dead. Ginny carefully hung up the receiver, and exited the booth. “The Creeveys are in,” she told Arthur. “And… we may end up doing this for a few others, too.”

“Other students?”

Ginny nodded. “Students. And any other Muggle-borns we can get hold of. Anyone I can think of, anyone we can reach.” A grin spread across her face. “We’re doing this. We’re really going to do this.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Arthur warned. “If you get caught…”

“I know, Dad. I’ll be careful. But I have to do something.” Her chin jutted out, and her eyes glinted; it was the look that tended to appear on her face right before hexing someone. “After all, this is war.”

***

Things happened quite quickly after that.

Ginny, it turned out, was very good at forging—good enough that Xavier and Artemis agreed to the fifty Galleon price. Luna turned out to be good at it, too—although Ginny had to keep a sharp eye on her to prevent her from “livening up” some of the documents with doodles of Wrackspurts and Freshwater Plimpies. Colin became their contact-person, reaching out through a rapidly expanding network to find other Muggle-borns in need of help. After some initial concerns, Molly also joined in with their efforts; although her attempts at forgery didn’t pass muster, she was a genius with coming up with the subtle connections they needed to make the new records believable. Ginny and her mother sat at the kitchen table for hours at a time, with Molly writing out lists of names and connections, and Ginny carefully copying them onto Apparition license templates.

When it became obvious that money was going to be a difficulty, Neville invented the Mimbulus Mimbletonia Preservation Fund, a front for donations to pay for the forgeries on behalf of Muggle-borns who couldn’t pay for themselves. His grandmother enlisted her vast array of connections to donate to the Fund, and soon they were able to offer the forgeries for free. Bill, who was already working at Gringotts, handled the flow of money in and out of their account, ensuring that none of their transactions with Xavier and Artemis looked suspicious.

With owls and the Floo Network being watched, the group resorted to Muggle post and telephones for communication. This turned out to be surprisingly efficient. Colin coached Arthur through setting up a Post Office box in London, where it would be easy for Xavier or Artemis to pick up the forgeries on their way to work. Arthur, overworked as he was, found time to get excited about manila envelopes and postage stamps, and Ginny, who had not expected the solution to be this simple, thanked Merlin that the Ministry hadn’t thought to monitor Muggle forms of communication.

Ginny now spent almost all her time forging documents, until her hands ached and she saw spiky black letters swirling across her vision even with her eyes closed. When she couldn’t work anymore, she took Ron’s Cleansweep 11 out the orchard and flew over the grass, weaving around the trees and practicing loops and barrel rolls until she felt halfway human again. Then she returned to her desk or the kitchen table, her determination restored.

When Dirk Cresswell was arrested, Ginny felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. His family tree was one of the first ones she had altered; now, her mistakes might cost a man his life. Her parents made soothing noises and patted her shoulders, but they might as well have been a million miles away. Did they think she couldn’t take the responsibility of failure? That she couldn’t handle the knowledge that she might have just sent a good man to Azkaban? _My fault_ , her heart beat in her ears. _My fault, my fault, my fault._

Molly gazed at her worriedly. “It’s not your—” she began.

 _Fault. My fault._ Ginny stumbled to the door, throwing off her mother’s comforting hands. There was a scream welling up inside her, and she was damned if she was going to let it out here. Once outside the house, she ran to the broomshed and flung herself onto Ron’s Cleansweep, pushing it faster and faster until the landscape became blurred, and all she could hear was the rushing of wind in her ears.

When she’d gone a few miles, sticking close to the hedgerows in case of Muggles, she finally drew to a halt. She was in one of the fields, surrounded by long grass and twisted trees; nothing but sky overhead, no sound but the hoarse caw of a crow in the distance. Ginny tumbled off the broom and threw herself face-down in the grass, finally letting the tears fall. In this quiet hollow, there was no one to see, no one to be brave for. The grass whispered overhead as she cried out her anguish into the sun-warmed ground.

She lay there for a long time, breathing in the scents of dirt and dry grass, feeling the tears harden into salt on her cheeks. The trauma of failure did not exactly subside, but it slowly turned into something harder, fiercer: a resolve that felt like flames running through her, all her anger and hatred and fear turned into something much more powerful. _I will do better. I will not let this defeat me._ Ginny stood, wiping her face with dirty hands, and glared at the sky. “This will _not_ defeat me,” she said aloud, and her hands balled into fists. “This is _war_.”

 

_I’m sorry, Ginny, but I don’t know where he is. He left right after the Ministry takeover—sent me a note saying that he didn’t stand a chance with the new administration, and he was going on the run. I’ve tried owling him, but no luck—my guess is that he’s moving around too much for poor Lir to catch up with him. I’m sure he’s alright, though—they’re printing all the arrest records in the Prophet now, and he’s not in them—I checked._

_I wish I had something better to tell you. Stay safe. Take care._

_—Seamus_

She reread the letter several times over, watched by Seamus’s short-eared owl. A lump came into her throat. She and Dean hadn’t ended their relationship on good terms, but she had _liked_ him, damn it. He was funny, smart, a good Quidditch player… _a good kisser, too,_ she thought, and instantly felt like a traitor to Harry. Dean hadn’t been right for her, but she would have liked to be friends again. _Merlin, I should have at least said a civil good bye to him. If he winds up dead, or in Azkaban… why is it that all the people I like end up on the Ministry’s hit list?_

Her hands felt cold, but they were steady as she sat down, dry-eyed, to write her reply.

 

The days went by. Ginny obsessively checked the arrest reports in the Daily Prophet, checking for the names of people she knew, people whose records she’d altered. Most days, there was no one she recognized. Sometimes, a familiar name would cause a lurch in her stomach, and she’d force herself to read the print beside it: _Arrested. Missing. Wanted. Dead._

And always, there were the pictures of Harry plastered all over the place, in the _Prophet_ , in _Witch Weekly_ , and all over Diagon Alley. They’d picked one where he was squinting—to make him look more dangerous, she supposed, although to her it looked as though he’d just woken up—and the words _Undesirable Number One_ were splashed across his chest with the details of the reward. Hermione’s picture was there too, often, and sometimes other people she recognized—Dean, Dirk Cresswell (who appeared to have escaped), even Mundungus Fletcher. Every time was like falling off a broomstick, knocking the air out of her lungs. Every time, she resolved to work harder and faster, to do everything in her power against this new regime.

Molly fussed over her appetite, claiming that she was getting too thin. Ginny thought it was a miracle she was eating anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Ginny using Ron's broom because I'm assuming that it's the best the Weasleys have at this point. I'm sure Ginny's got a broom, but Ron's is the only one that the books mention being new. With him gone, Ginny is definitely taking it.


	3. The Train to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Hogwarts Express heads north, Ginny finds out just how many students are ready to fight the new regime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past trauma, Dementors, nothing graphic.

By the end of August, Ginny had forged documents for seventy-eight Muggle-borns, and Luna had done over fifty. It was hard to believe they’d only been doing this for a month; already, it felt strange to leave behind the books and genealogy charts, special quills, aged inks, and handwriting samples, to leave the work that had engrossed every minute of her time for the past month. Molly had promised to continue the project while she was gone, along with Fleur, who had also proved adept at forging.

“It won’t matter soon, anyway,” Bill predicted, the night before Ginny left for Hogwarts. “The Records Office people are saying that they’ll have a full list of all the wizards in Britain by the end of September.”

Ginny nodded. “That’s what Artemis said. But we’ve got thirty people on the waiting list now, and Xavier thinks we’ll get another thirty, at least, before we get shut down—”

“Ginny, relax,” said Fleur, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Your muzzer and I will take care of it. You will ‘ave enough to worry about, at ‘Ogwarts.”

“I’m just glad McGonagall got me the list of First Years before they went to the Ministry.” Ginny ran her hands through her long hair and sighed. “I know. I’ll try to stop worrying. It’s not that I don’t trust you lot—”

“I know.” Molly gave her a hug. “You’ve been wonderful, dear, and we’re all terribly proud of you. But you are only sixteen. You deserve a break.”

Ginny, thinking of the plans that she, Neville, and Luna had been making over the summer, had to work to keep her expression neutral. “Break,” she echoed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ll be getting.”

 

The first of September started off badly, and didn’t get any better. At Platform Nine-and-three quarters, Ministry Officials searched Ginny’s luggage and scanned her with Secrecy Sensors, traumatizing poor Pigwidgeon in the process. They didn’t catch the large collection of Dungbombs, nor the stash of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products that Ginny was smuggling in, due to the Undetectable Extension Charm she’d placed on a thick woolen sock at the bottom of her trunk. It was, after all, undetectable.

_I guess I did learn a thing or two, growing up with Fred and George,_ she thought as they finally let her go. _After all, who’s going to look for Dungbombs inside a sock?_

On the train, she found an empty compartment, and was soon joined by Luna, Neville, Colin, and Dennis, all of whom looked as tense as she felt. Even Luna didn’t look as serene as usual, and one of her radish earrings was missing.

“They confiscated my Gurdyroot infusion,” she informed the others in a tone that bordered on irritation. “They said it could be poisonous.”

“They weren’t wrong,” muttered Neville. Colin suddenly broke into a cough, and Ginny turned her head to hide a smirk.

Luna gave Neville a dirty look. “For your information, infusion of Gurdyroots has a number of very beneficial properties. And while we’re on the subject, I think we’d best do something to ward off the Wrackspurts, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Wrackspurts,” she repeated, drawing her wand. “They can be such a nuisance sometimes. I think it would be better not to let them into the compartment, don’t you?” She raised her wand, pointing it at the ceiling. “ _Non Audiunt Maximus._ ”

“What are you on about?” Dennis asked, bewildered.

Luna smiled. “Well, they’re sure to have Listening Charms in all the compartments,” she said, tucking her wand back behind her ear. “I thought it best to disable them, so we can talk freely.”

“Brilliant.” Neville drew his own wand. “Might as well do the door, too, yeah? What’s the charm?”

“ _Non Audient Maximus.”_

“ _Non Audient Maximus_.”

“That should do the trick.”

 

About ten minutes into the journey, the compartment door slid open, and Ritchie Coote entered. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Hey, you lot.”

Neville blinked at him. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to say…” He glanced around, and lowered his voice. “Thank you. For—everything.”

“No problem,” said Ginny.

“Yeah,” Colin echoed.

Ritchie nodded. “And—er—if you’re—starting anything at Hogwarts—let me know, all right?”

“For your information,” Ginny said, “we’re intending to be model students this year. Isn’t that right, Neville?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

“Just like we’ve been model citizens all summer,” said Colin, grinning.

“Right.” Ritchie stuck his hands in his pockets, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, if you need any—er—additional modeling—count me in.”

“Will do,” Neville promised. “And Ritchie… mouth shut, alright?”

The boy’s face turned grim. “Believe me,” he said, “I got the memo.”

When the door had shut behind him, Ginny turned to face the others. “We’re going to need a better way to communicate.”

“What about these?” Luna pulled a gold coin from her bag and held it out for inspection.

The others looked at each other. “I’ve still got mine,” said Ginny slowly.

“Mine’s in my trunk.” Colin glanced at his brother. “You’ve still got yours, right, Dennis?”

Dennis pulled a guilty expression. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got it somewhere… I don’t think I left it at home.”

They turned to Neville, who pulled a Galleon out of his pocket with a grin. “I knew these would come in handy again.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Luna, smiling.

“Not quite.” Neville rubbed his thumb over the ridge of the false Galleon, a frown crease between his eyebrows. “We don’t have the master coin, and the Protean Charm only works with that. Besides, we’ll need to enchant new ones—not everyone’s going to have them. Ritchie wasn’t in the—he wasn’t around, last time. And there’ll be others.”

“I remember Michael saying that the Protean Charm was NEWT level magic,” said Ginny, “but I’m sure we can get it if we try hard enough. I’ll look it up when we get to school.”

“It’s in the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ ,” said Neville. “I can lend you my copy.”

“Perfect.”

  

As they traveled north, and the landscape outside the windows changed from houses to fields and hedgerows, then to wild, rocky hills, more students stopped by their compartment. Some, like Justin Finch-Fletchley and Emma Dobbs, were Muggle-borns whose papers Ginny and Luna had forged. Others, like Susan Bones and Michael Corner, wanted to discuss the new regime. To Ginny’s surprise, almost everyone who talked to them seemed to assume that she, Neville, and Luna would be the leaders of any kind of student rebellion in Harry’s absence.

“Do you know where Harry is?” Terry Boot asked her.

Ginny shook her head. Her parents suspected that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were hiding in Grimmauld Place, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone that. “I wish I knew,” she said.

Terry wasn’t the only person to ask her about Harry. When Seamus Finnigan joined them, he speculated about Harry and Hermione’s whereabouts for some time, wondering whether they would run into Dean at any point. Ginny, who had industriously spread the rumors of both her and Harry’s breakup and Ron’s spattergroit, had a hard time biting her tongue.

It grew dark outside, and the lamps along the carriage were lit. The food trolley had been and gone; Ginny had brought sandwiches, as usual, but the others purchased more than enough Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, and Cauldron Cakes for all of them. They were on their third game of Exploding Snap when the train suddenly slowed and ground to a halt.

“We can’t be at Hogwarts yet,” said Neville, trying to rub a clear patch on the foggy window pane. “What d’ you reckon—”

“I expect we’re getting inspected,” said Luna. The others looked at her. She sat up straighter and pulled her wand from behind her ear. “Don’t you remember? Our second year, the train was stopped so they could search for Sirius Black.”

A chill ran up and down Ginny’s spine. “Do you mean…”

Above her, the light sputtered and went out. One after another, the other lights in the carriage did the same, plunging them into darkness. It began to grow colder.

“Dementors,” Colin whispered.

The students sat in the darkness, gripping their wands tightly, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps thirty seconds passed, then the door to the compartment opened, and they all saw what they’d been dreading: A tall, hooded figure entered, bringing with it a cold that seeped directly into their bones. Its loud, rattling breaths echoed around the small space, and Ginny could feel its sightless eyes examining her, feel its hidden mouth sucking everything good, everything happy, from the room.

 Her mind felt numb; she could see Lupin staggering into the house, barely supporting a bleeding George; Bill in the Hospital Wing with his face ripped apart by Greyback’s fangs; Harry kneeling by Dumbledore’s body, Colin lying Petrified in the Hospital Wing…. And then, as she always did, she heard _his_ voice, charming, confident, heartless, and cold… “Come on Ginny, you should know by now it’s useless to cry… Write the message, Ginny…. Don’t you want them to know where you’ve gone?” Her breath caught in her throat as sTom Riddle’s voice filled her mind: “‘Her body will lie in the Chamber forever.’ That puts it quite succinctly, doesn’t it Ginny? Maybe if we’re lucky, Harry Potter will come….” She heard his laugh, high and cold and humorless, and then Neville’s voice broke into her memories, and she clung to the sound of it as though it were a life raft.

“He’s not here.”

The Dementor paused, turning its hood toward the boy standing defiantly in the middle of the compartment, wand out. “Harry Potter isn’t here,” he repeated. “Go.”

It drew another rattling breath, then glided forward, rotting hands extending from its cloak. Ginny stood up, fighting the cold and dread threatening to engulf her. She took a deep breath, and thought of winning the Quidditch Cup. “ _Expecto Patronum!”_ she cried. A thin wisp of white escaped her wand.  _Not enough_ , she thought, just as Luna said, “Remember what Harry said? We need to think of something really happy.”

_Harry._ It was sappy, it was stupid, but it worked. As the image of Harry filled her mind, she shouted, and heard the others' voices along with hers: “ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

The familiar silver horse burst forth from the end of her wand, accompanied by Luna’s hare, Colin’s golden retriever, and puffs of silver from Neville and Dennis. As the Patronuses charged toward the Dementor, it fled through the still-open door.

They stood shivering in the dark, clammy and nervous in the creature’s wake. Slowly, the warmth came back; then the lights came back on, and the floor of the train began to shake again as the engine came to life. Ginny felt nauseous and weak; she dropped into her seat with a groan. “Dementors. Fucking Dementors.”

“I think I have some Chocolate Frogs left,” said Luna, digging in her bag.

“I’ve got a Mars Bar.” Dennis pulled a Muggle candy in a shiny wrapper from his pocket, breaking it into pieces.

Luna pulled a ball of wool, a copy of the _Quibbler_ , and a handful of Gobstones from her bag, dumping them into Neville’s lap before finally digging out a couple of Chocolate Frogs. “Here.”

Ginny took one of the pieces of chocolate and took a bite, feeling warmth flood back into her. “Merlin’s pants,” she said wearily. “I feel like I’m twelve years old again.”

“I know,” said Neville. “I half-expected Lupin to pop up from somewhere.”

“That was a weird year.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about Hogwarts, Ginny. All our years have been weird.”

“Last year was all right,” Luna said fairly. “Well, until…”

“Until the part where we had to battle Death Eaters and Dumbledore died, yeah.”

Neville stretched out his legs with a sigh. There was a smear of chocolate in the corner of his mouth. “I have a feeling this year’s going to beat the others by a long shot.”

“As long as I don’t get Petrified again, I’m happy.” Colin rose from his seat, shoving the empty Mars wrapper into his pocket. “Well, we’d better get our robes on. Do you girls want the compartment first?”

“Thanks, Colin.”

The boys filed out, leaving Luna and Ginny to change.


	4. Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot has changed at Hogwarts, but some things remain the same.

It was a shock to see Severus Snape sitting in Dumbledore’s chair, as though he had any right to be there. McGonagall had told her that the Ministry would appoint a headmaster or headmistress who would play toady to the new administration; truth be told, she had rather expected Umbridge to return, or maybe even one of the Malfoys. But to see Dumbledore’s murderer standing there, standing in his place, calm, in control… it was maddening.

 _How dare you!_ she screamed in her head. _How_ dare _you take his place? How dare you stand there with his blood on your hands, when Harry is being hunted like a dog? You bastard, you evil—_

“Ginny… come on, let’s go, let’s sit down.” It was Colin’s voice, and she felt his hands on her shoulders, trying to move her along. She became aware that she was trembling with rage, that her hands were balled into fists as she glared at the head table.

“Let’s go,” Colin repeated, steering her toward the Gryffindor table.

Ginny took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but her jaw was still clenched and there was a murderous look in her eye as she sat down beside Neville.

“Did you get a look at the staff table?” he asked, nodding toward it.

“Snape,” she spat.

“Yeah.” His face was pale, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “Did you see who else, though?”

She looked back at the table, eyes sweeping over the other teachers. Sprout, Slughorn, Flitwick… then she saw them, at the far end of the table: two squat, lumpy figures, male and female, with the same lopsided, doughy features. The Carrows. She stared, transfixed, at the brother—Amycus, she thought—remembering that dreadful night at the end of last year, dodging curses in the dark corridor beneath the Astronomy Tower. “ _Crucio—Crucio—you can’t dance forever, pretty—”_ Harry had jinxed him that time, but he was not here now…..

Amycus raised his head and looked directly at her; his mouth fell open in a gap-toothed leer. Ginny shuddered, ducking her head so that she was hidden behind Neville’s tall frame.

“Do you know them?” Colin whispered, craning his neck to look at the head table. He was still almost a full head shorter than Ginny, and about a foot shorter than Neville.

“They’re Death Eaters,” murmured Ginny. “They were there the night Dumbledore—”

“Your attention,” said Snape, standing. He had hardly raised his voice, but there was an instant hush. “The Sorting is about to begin.”

This, at least, was familiar. McGonagall entered, leading the usual bevy of First Years. They looked terrified, and Ginny wondered whether this was just the normal nerves, or something more. The professor placed the Sorting Hat on the stool before the head table, and there were a few gasps from the First Years as a rip opened at the base of the brim. There was a moment of silence; then the hat began to sing.

 

“ _Oh, friendship raised these castle walls,_

_And partners laid each stone;_

_No quarrels came between those four_

_Until each chose their own:_

_For Gryffindor, it was the brave,_

_The chivalrous, the daring;_

_For Hufflepuff, the workers hard,_

_The loyal, just, and caring;_

_Ravenclaw prized cleverness,_

_Wisdom, learning, logic;_

_And Slytherin ambitious souls_

_With families steeped in magic._

_Bitter words were spoken then,_

_About whom they should teach:_

_Only those considered “pure”,_

_Or all whom they could reach?_

_And since that day, between these walls,_

_The poison seeped and spread:_

_That value rests within your blood_

_More than your heart and head._

_And though I now must sort you,_

_I fear to fan this hate_

_For tolerance and partnership_

_Alone can make us great.”_

 

The hat fell silent, and whispers erupted across the hall. Neville turned to Ginny, eyebrows raised. “That thing gets less subtle every year.”

“How much do you want to bet they decide to get rid of it?” she muttered back.

“Silence!” Snape said loudly, and the students obeyed once more.

He nodded to Professor McGonagall, who took a deep breath, unrolled her parchment scroll, and called, “Ackerly, Matilda!”

A small, dark-haired girl stumbled forward, and the Sorting began.

 

When the last student had been Sorted, Snape stood again, gesturing for silence. “As some of you—” he glanced toward the Gryffindor table—“may have noticed, there are a few changes at Hogwarts this year. As your new headmaster, I have pledged to uphold the noble traditions of this school to the best of my ability. However…” His mouth twisted, and again his dark eyes swept over the Gryffindors, most of whom looked mutinous. “The Wizarding world is changing, and Hogwarts, as the center of magical learning, must change with it. To that end, Muggle Studies is now compulsory for all students.”

Exclamations of surprise and mutters of complaint swept the hall. Ginny and her friends exchanged startled looks.

 “I would have thought he’d get rid of it altogether,” said Colin.

Snape raised his voice, commanding quiet again. “The class will be taught by our new professor, Alecto Carrow.”

Ginny clenched her jaw. Now it made sense. Alecto stood and made a small bow, to slight applause from the Slytherins and stares from the other students. Snape continued.

“We shall no longer have the class known as ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts.’ There is no need to defend against that which you have learned to use wisely. Therefore, we welcome Professor Amycus Carrow, who will be teaching Dark Arts.”

The smattering of applause at the Slytherin table was almost drowned out by the uproar this caused. Across the table, Parvati rolled her eyes. “What did they expect with him in charge? Fluffy-Bunny class?”

“The Carrows have also been appointed Deputy Headmaster and mistress,” said Snape when silence was once more restored. “From this point forward, they will be responsible for all discipline at Hogwarts. If you break the rules, your professors and Heads of Houses _will_ report you to the Carrows, or face my… displeasure.” He glanced out at the worried faces watching him, and added. “Professor Horace Slughorn is taking my place as Head of Slytherin House. Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you all that all Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes products are banned from Hogwarts. That is all.” He sat down, and again, the Slytherins were the only ones who applauded.

Ginny stared at the table, which was now filled with food, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. Her stomach was knotted so badly that she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to eat the feast laid out in front of her. _This is bad_ , she thought numbly. _I knew it would be, but… I guess there’s a difference between expecting something to happen and experiencing it._

“Don’t we have any prefects this year?” asked Seamus Finnigan, who was sitting opposite her.

Neville looked around, frowning. “Ron and Hermione were ours, and they’re both gone…. What about your year, Ginny?”

“Calliope Wildsmith transferred to Beauxbatons,” she said.  “I thought Ethan would be here, though.”

“Ethan Proudfoot? He’s not… he’s not Muggle-born, is he?” Parvati asked.

“No, but he’s… you know, his dad…” Lavender lowered her voice. “His dad was Maddox Proudfoot.”

Parvati raised a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. Neville, Seamus, and Colin looked blank.

“Who?”

“You didn’t hear about this?” Lavender looked around, then leaned across the table to whisper, “Mr. Proudfoot was an Auror. He refused to arrest someone.”

“Who?” asked Colin.

“Madame Marchbanks.”

“Isn’t she…”

“The examiner from our O.W.L.s, yeah. She wrote a letter to the paper calling Snape a murderer and saying we should all be behind…” she glanced over her shoulder again. “Harry.”

“They arrested her for that?” Colin exclaimed, outraged.

“Shh. They tried. But Mr. Proudfoot refused.”

Ginny felt rather sick. She thought she knew what was coming, but she had to ask, anyway. “What happened to him?”

Parvati’s face was grim. “They killed him.”

“And Ethan?”

“The whole family fled to America,” said Lavender. “They used one of those Muggle things—the flying things.”

“Airplanes,” Parvati and Colin said at the same time, in identical tones of exasperation.

“Right.” Lavender sat back, eyes now on her plate. Her food, like Ginny’s, was untouched. “Anyway, that’s why Ethan’s not coming back.”

“How d’you know all this stuff?” Colin demanded. “You’re not even in his year!”

“He was dating my cousin,” snapped Lavender. “I'd really rather not talk about it right now.”

***

“Double-Potions, Transfiguration, and then a break,” said Ginny, examining her schedule. “I can go see Hagrid!”

Colin, who was the only Sixth Year she knew still taking History of Magic, scowled. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“You could have dropped History of Magic,” she said reasonably.

“Not if I want to be a Curse-Breaker,” said Colin. He seized another piece of toast and began slathering it with an excessive amount of marmalade. “They require N.E.W.Ts in History of Magic, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy.” He made a face. “I _hate_ Arithmancy. The numbers are all right, but we have to sit and watch while Vector goes on and on about the charts, instead of just _doing_ it.”

“I didn’t think you needed History of Magic for Curse-Breaking,” said Ginny. “Bill didn’t.”

“I’m applying for the Research division—you have to know the background of wherever you’re going.”

She took a sip of coffee, considered, and added milk to it. “I would have thought you’d go for something more—I don’t know—something that involves blowing things up, or something.”

“But the research part is so much _fun._ ” Colin’s face was alight with passion. “You get to decipher all kinds of old inscriptions, and half the time you don’t even know where it is you’re going—you just have a map and some numbers and a hunch. And you run into _all kinds_ of weird creatures—Sphinxes and Redcaps and even Acromantulas—and you have to record everything, and take pictures—there’s all these places that Muggles think are just imaginary, or lost forever, but they’re _right there_ and you just have to find it.” He took a breath, laughing slightly. “I’ve been reading up on it.”

“I can tell.” Ginny grinned at her friend, happy to see him excited. Everything had been so grim lately; it was good to be able to relax and talk about their futures, ignoring for a moment the shadow of Voldemort stretching over their paths. “You’d better finish that toast, or we’re going to be late.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Colin protested, but he shoved half of his toast into his mouth anyway. “’Ut oo you ‘ant oo oo?’” he asked around his mouthful.

Ginny, used to dealing with her brothers, interpreted the question easily. “When I graduate? I dunno, really.” Her parents, her brothers, and McGonagall had asked her the same question, but she hadn’t been able to come up with a good answer. _The minute I come of age, I’m off to fight Death Eaters with Harry. Or work on bringing down Voldemort. Or whatever it is that he’s doing._ It wasn’t exactly a career plan, but it was the only plan that really made sense to her at the moment. “Um. Maybe Quidditch. Or… well, I’d say Auror, but….”

“This isn’t the best time to work for the Ministry,” Colin completed, having swallowed the last of his breakfast. “I hear you.”

Ginny glanced at the clock on western wall of the Great Hall. “OK, now we’re actually going to be late. Come on, Curse-Breaker, time for Potions.”

“Bet you five knuts Slughorn does Hiccoughing Solution.”

“I’m not taking that.”

“Because you know I’m right?”

“That, and I haven’t got five knuts. I’m poor, remember?”

“OK, bet you your Amortensia has something to do with Harry.”

“Listen, first of all, Harry and I broke up after like three weeks—”

“Only ‘cause he was leaving—”

“You did _not_ just say that where people can hear—and secondly, my Amortensia smells like broomstick polish and hippogriffs, thank you very much.”

Colin raised an eyebrow as they ran down the steps to the Dungeons. “And you think those _don’t_  have anything to do with Harry?”

“It’s not my fault we have shared interests!”

“Yeah, all right.”

They reached the Potions classroom, and Ginny turned to shake a finger in his face. “ _You_ shut up. Or I’ll tell Marion Wright what _your_ Amortensia smells like.”

“Ouch.” Colin opened the door, laughing. “Cutthroat.”

Still grinning, they entered the classroom, fogged with the steam of half a dozen bubbling cauldrons.


	5. Muggle Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny, Colin, and Luna attend Muggle Studies class with Alecto Carrow. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really sure what to do for Alecto's speech pattern. In the books, she and her brother sound uneducated/lower class and use some slang, but they don't have a lot of dialogue, so it was hard to tell exactly what they're supposed to sound like. Please let me know if you have any suggestions about how to write the Carrows better.

Thursday was Ginny’s first Muggle Studies class. She, Colin, and Luna sat together instinctively, in the back corner of the room. The other Gryffindors and Ravenclaws filed in, quieter than usual; there was an air of tension in the room, and no one seemed to want to talk much. Luna looked at Ginny with concern in her large eyes.

“You’re tense,” she murmured.

“Can you blame me?” muttered Ginny. “A Death Eater’s about to walk in here and teach us Muggle Studies.”

“I can help.”

Ginny looked at her skeptically. “With the Death Eater, or my tenseness?”

“Both?” Luna shrugged, and touched her wand to Ginny’s back. “ _Suspendisse.”_

Immediately, warmth spread through Ginny’s shoulders, followed by a rhythmic, gentle pressure on her muscles. She tensed in surprise, then relaxed. “That… feels nice, actually.”

A small smile tugged at Luna’s lips. “I like to use it on myself when I get sore from painting. It’s very helpful.”

Ginny closed her eyes, relaxing further as the spell loosened her muscles. “Why did no one ever teach me this one? All those Quidditch practices I suffered through…”

“Probably because I made it up,” Luna suggested.

Ginny opened her eyes. “You invented this? Wow, that’s really—”

At that moment, the door banged open, revealing the squat figure of Alecto Carrow. The students drew back from her as she marched to the front of the classroom, looks of anxiety and even fear on many of their faces. As she reached her desk, the witch waved her wand, causing a stack of pamphlets to fly out of her bag and land on the desk in an untidy jumble. She waved her wand again, and the pamphlets rose and fell into an even more haphazard pile, flopping like landed fish. There were titters from a few of the students as one of them fell on the floor.

Alecto glared at them all. “Silence!” Breathing heavily, she pulled a piece of parchment from her bag, unrolled it, and sent another glare around the room. “Answer when I call your name,” she snarled.

When the roll call was finished, Alecto told Lucia Kneen to pass out the pamphlets. As Ginny glanced down at her copy, she felt a stab of revulsion: the cover showed a rose with a simpering face in its center, being strangled by a vine with fangs and a scowl. In flashing orange letters across the top, it read: _MUDBLOODS and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society._ Feeling sick, she turned to look at Colin, who wore the same expression of disgust and horror on his face. On her other side, Luna was staring at the thing lying on her desk as though it might bite her.

“You’ll have a list of books to get soon enough,” Alecto told them. “’Til then, we’ll be readin’ this Ministry-approved information.”

She pointed her wand at the blackboard, causing uneven chalk letters to scrawl across it: “Mudbloods: Stealing Magic.” “Now,” she said, turning to the class, “who can tell me how we know that Mudbloods steal magic?”

Ginny raised her hand, and saw the woman frown in surprise. “Weasley.”

“We don’t know that,” said Ginny, struggling to keep her voice calm, although she was shaking with anger. “They’ve been studying Muggle-Wizard relations since the International Statute of Secrecy was enacted, and there’s never been any evidence that Muggles can steal magic. It’s a recessive gene, just like red hair—it’s more common for it to be inherited from people who already have it, but it can crop up in families that don’t. Besides—”

“That’s enough!” Alecto barked. “We all know what a bunch of blood traitors yer family is, Weasley. They don’t know nothin’ about anythin’. Mudbloods are parasites—they suck the magic out of us purebloods—”

“That’s not true!” Colin piped up, his voice shrill with indignation. “That’s not even possible! How is a kid supposed to—”

The Death Eater’s eyes bulged. “Creevey, your Blood Status is nowhere near decent enough for you to be talking out in my class.” Her voice dripped malice. “If you don’t want to find yourself in front of the MRC, you’d better be quiet.”

Colin sat down, slowly. His face was white as parchment, his hands clenched into fists. Ginny opened her mouth to continue the argument, but Luna got there first.

“Professor Carrow,” she said innocently, “won’t you tell us how you came to pursue a career in Muggle Studies? You must have a lot of experience in the field.”

“Yeah,” said one of the Ravenclaw boys. “Can you tell us about electoricy, Professor Carrow?”

“And tello-visions!” someone shouted from the back.

The class devolved into uproar, with everyone shouting out all the Muggle-related things they could think of. Alecto was shouting something, but it was hard to hear her over the noise; then there was a loud bang, and pain suddenly slashed across Ginny’s face, stinging as though she’d been whipped. She bent over, clutching her face, and felt the skin swelling under her fingers; her eyes, reduced to slits, watered in reaction.

“What did you do to her?” Colin shouted.

Before Alecto could reply, an someone else yelled, “That’s a Stinging Jinx! You can’t jinx a student!”

“She wasn’t even doing anything!”

More voices joined the protest; there was another bang, and someone screamed; evidently Alecto had jinxed another student.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Alecto shrieked. “Or I’ll hex the lot of you!”

This seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect; Ginny couldn’t see, but she could hear the continued yells, bangs, and the sound of breaking glass. Then she felt someone pulling her out of her seat. A glimpse of blonde hair told her it was Luna who was propelling her toward the door; then the door opened, and she was pushed out into the hall. As Luna guided her down the corridor, she could hear Alecto shouting, “Quiet, quiet you little freaks! Fifty points from Gryffindor!”

“We’d better get you to the Hospital Wing,” said Luna in a worried tone. “I don’t know what to do for a Stinging Jinx.”

It felt like Ginny was being stung by several hornets at once. The pain made it hard to think. “We… might have to just wait it out,” she mumbled, clutching her friend’s arm. She touched her swollen face again. “I can’t believe it.”

“What can’t you believe?”

“Any of that.” She shuddered. “We’re going to be in so much trouble.”

“We already are in trouble,” Luna pointed out. “I doubt that leaving the class is going to make it much worse.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Ginny darkly. Her face was beginning to throb and itch. Had Harry ever mentioned a counter-spell for a Stinging Jinx? And if not, why the hell hadn’t he? Surely one existed.

“Watch out for the stairs,” said Luna, just as Ginny ran into the bottom step. “Sorry, I keep forgetting you can’t see.”

“No problem,” Ginny gasped, adding a throbbing toe to her list of injuries. “Luna, what if she has Colin’s family tree examined?”

Luna patted her shoulder, then pulled her to the side before she could run into a suit of armor. “We’ll deal with it if it happens. Right now we need to worry about you.”

Ginny restrained herself from rubbing her face again with difficulty. “Believe me, I am very worried about me,” she said dryly.

           

Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue disapprovingly as Luna explained what had happened. “Such goings on! Come here, dear, I have a potion that ought to put you right.”

The potion was extremely bitter, and Ginny nearly gagged as it went down, but it had the desired effect: within a few minutes, the pain had been reduced to minor itchiness, and she could feel her face returning to its normal shape. She thought she might cry with relief.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Don’t mention it, dear. You’re the seventh person to come in today with an injury from—from one of them.” Madam Pomfrey scowled. “I’m used to cleaning up after fights among the students, but to be attacked by a teacher—!” She shook her head, and pulled a small bottle from her apron pocket. “Here, apply this ointment as many times as you need until your skin returns to normal. And Miss Weasley…”

“Yes?”

The witch glanced around the empty Hospital Wing, then lowered her voice. “ _Do_ try to be careful, won’t you?”

“I… I’ll try,” said Ginny slowly, just as the door opened to reveal a group of her classmates, all sporting signs of magical attack. “See you later, Madam Pomfrey. And thanks again.”

“Yes, off you go,” Madam Pomfrey said absently, hurrying toward the new group of injured students. “Now, what happened to you lot?”

As the two girls left the Hospital Wing, Luna sighed. “I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot more of her this year.”

Another student sprinted by them, pinching a bloody nose. Ginny raised her eyebrows. “You think?”


	6. Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny gets detention, and makes plans with Neville and Luna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor torture, nothing graphic. Formatting's a little different this chapter; hope it's okay.

Alecto gave her detention for “inciting mayhem”; apparently Ginny and Luna’s early exit from the class had gone unnoticed in the general uproar. When Ginny arrived at her office, there was a scroll of parchment and a black quill waiting for her.

            “Write ‘Blood Traitor’ until I tell you to stop,” Alecto told her, and Ginny nodded silently, and picked up the pen.

            She had once gotten a detention with Umbridge in fourth year, and so she was not entirely surprised at the pain in her hand, or the letters written in her own blood upon the parchment, although she couldn’t quite suppress a gasp at the first cut.

            “Hurts, doesn’t it?” cackled Alecto. “That’ll teach you to talk in my class, girly.”

            Ginny didn’t reply. She pressed her lips together and wrote the words over and over, making no noise even when her skin ceased to knit itself together again, until the blood ran and dripped onto the floor. It was after midnight, and there was a small puddle of blood on the desk, when Alecto finally released her. Ginny walked straight-backed out of the room, waiting until she was in the corridor to cover her left hand with her right, staunching the bleeding with the sleeve of her robe.

            When she entered the Gryffindor common room, she found Neville and Luna waiting up for her.

            “Luna! How did you get in here?”

            “Neville let me in. We thought you might need us when you got back.” Luna got to her feet, looking anxious. “Are you okay?”

            Ginny silently held out her hand for inspection. Both of her friends looked horrified.

            “That _bitch_.” She’d never heard that tone in Neville’s voice before. His face had gone red, his hands clenched into fists. “This is—this is—”

            “Yeah,” said Ginny shortly. She covered her hand with her sleeve again. “Well, she’s a Death Eater, what do you expect?”

            “We have to tell someone. McGonagall, or—”

            “No,” said Ginny. “The Carrows are in charge now, Nev. None of the professors have any power. And McGonagall’s in the Order, she’s lucky not to be in Azkaban. She’s not in a position to go picking fights.”

            “She’s right, Neville.” Luna laid a hand on his arm. “We’ve got to deal with this on our own.”

            Neville paced to the fireplace, scowling. “We can’t just let them get away with this! We’ve got to do _something!_ ”

            “We _are_ going to do something,” Luna pointed out. “But we can’t just rush in. We’ve got to plan.”

            “But not now,” said Ginny. “It was nice of you to wait up for me, but I need to go to bed and find something to put on this.” She gestured with her left hand.

            Luna clapped a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Ginny! I got distracted. Here, sit down and I’ll fix it for you.”

            Ginny eyed her a tad suspiciously. “You’re not going to make me eat Gurdyroot or something, are you?”

            “Gurdyroot is a warding plant,” Luna said patiently, as though explaining that a Hover Charm makes things float. “It’s no good for wounds. I brought Murtlap Essence.”

            “All right.” She threw herself into the empty chair by the fire, extending her still-bleeding hand. “Have a go at it, then.”  
            Luna rummaged in her bag, eventually pulling out a bottle of clear yellow liquid and a bowl. After pouring the former into the latter, she handed it to Ginny. “Here, soak your hand in that.”

            Ginny laid her hand in the solution, and immediately felt the sting fade from the cuts on her hand. She sighed in gratitude. “Thanks, Luna, this is loads better.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            “How did you know she’d be using the quill, though?”

            “I didn’t.” Luna settled back into her chair, pulling a pair of knitting needles and a ball of sparkly yarn from her bag. “I just figured she was probably going to make you do something horrible, so I brought all the different antidotes I could think of. I have burn salve and anti-fungal spray and anti-stinging cream… oh yeah, and a bezoar in case she tried to poison you.”

            Ginny stared at her for a moment. “Luna, have I ever mentioned how much I love you?”

            “Yes,” said Luna peacefully. “But you can tell me again, if you like.”

            “You’re bloody brilliant.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I hate to interrupt,” said Neville, who was still pacing around the room, “but what are we going to do about this? We need a plan.”

            “We’ve got a plan,” Luna said, peering at him over the top of her knitting needles. “Get the D.A. together, figure out the Protean Charm, and wreak havoc.”

            Neville rolled his eyes. “That’s not a plan, Luna. That’s like… an outline. An embryo of a plan.”

            “It’s a start,” said Luna, unruffled.

            Ginny stared into the fire, wishing she could just throw in some Floo Powder and go someplace where things made sense. Hogwarts had never been a safe haven for her, not really—it couldn’t be, after everything that had happened in her first year—but Dumbledore’s presence had offered an illusion of sanctuary that she could only fully appreciate now, when he was gone. _Fine mess he’s left us in_ , she thought bitterly. _Just like in Fourth Year. Why is it always a bunch of teenagers who have to save everyone? They don’t tell us anything because we’re “too young”, and then we have to save their asses when the Death Eaters take over._

“…what do you think, Gin?”

            “Huh?” she said, realizing that Neville had just asked her a question.

            “I _said_ , we could let off some Dungbombs in the Carrows’ offices. You and Colin both brought some, right?”

            Ginny shook her head. “They’ll know it’s us.”

            He frowned at her. “How?”

            “I have a row with Carrow, then have detention with her, then someone Dung-bombs her office? They might be stupid, but they’re not _that_ stupid.” Ginny let her head droop back onto the chair. Her eyelids felt as though they’d been coated in lead. She wished she could just melt into a puddle here in front of the fire; moving anywhere felt like far too much effort. “I think we need to wait until we’ve figured out the Protean Charm,” she said slowly. “It can’t just be the three of us doing everything—well, four, with Colin. We’ll get burned out. We need to be able to coordinate the D.A.”

            “Yeah, all right,” sighed Neville. “I just… we need to do _something_ to show them we’re not just caving. We have to stand up to them.”

            “We _are_ standing up to them, Nev. What do you think I was in detention for?”

            “You’re right.” Neville punched a fist into his palm, looking rather like Harry giving a pep talk before a Quidditch match. “We need to stand up more in class—show them we’re not afraid of them.”

            Ginny hesitated. “No offense, Nev, and I see your point, but I really don’t feel like getting hit with a Stinging Jinx every time I go to Muggle Studies class. Or cutting my hand open every night.”

            “Well, no,” Neville admitted. “I don’t want that either. But it’s important to speak out—show everyone that we don’t have to agree with them.”

            “Is that really going to help?”

            _“Yes._ ” He walked over to the fireplace, apparently too agitated to keep still. “Remember in Fifth Year—well, Fourth for you—when Harry would fight with Umbridge? It… it made a difference, it made people think, it gave us hope. And he didn’t do it every class, and I know some people thought he was mad, but… I think it’s important. To let people know that you’re willing to fight, that there are some things that are too important to leave alone. And this is one of them.”

            There was a moment of silence. “Well said, Neville,” Luna said at last. “But I think there’s something you haven’t considered.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Well, say you, me, and Ginny take it upon ourselves to speak out in the Carrows’ classes. That means that a few Sixth and Seventh Years will hear our message. But what about the others? What about the First Years who haven’t learned anything else? We need to reach out to them.”

            Ginny frowned thoughtfully. “That’s true. We can’t exactly just burst into First Year classes shouting about how You-Know-Who’s taken over the Ministry. We have to get the information out some other way.”

            “In Fifth Year, Harry did that interview,” said Neville. “Remember? It was all anyone talked about for days. It really convinced a lot of people—Seamus even sent it to his mother.”

            “ _The Quibbler_ ’s already printing about You-Know-Who and the Muggle-borns,” Luna said. “I think we need something more localized.”

            “A pamphlet,” said Ginny. The other two looked at her, and she hurried on. “We can make a counter-point to the Pureblood-crap one from the Ministry. One that’s pro-Muggle, with the real facts, references, and everything.”

            “It’d need to be catchy, though,” said Neville. “Easy to read. People tend to be a lot more interested in reading rubbish than actual facts.”

            “It helps if they think it’s something they’re not supposed to know,” said Luna. “That’s why _The Quibbler_ is popular—it’s the stuff that the mainstream media is trying to suppress.”

            “’The Lies You’ve Learned,’” said Ginny slowly. “With bullet points for all the stuff they’re trying to teach us about Muggles and Muggle-borns.”

            “Yeah, that’s good,” Luna answered. “It needs a tag-line, though: something like, ‘What Your Professors Don’t Want You to Know.”

            “Maybe something a little broader?” suggested Neville. “’Ten Things the Ministry Doesn’t Want You to Know.’”

            “I like it.” Ginny yawned and stretched, wondering what time it was. It had to be after one. “Alright, we can figure the rest out later, but I really need to get to bed. I still have Charms homework left to do.”

            “Alright,” Neville agreed. “Er… Luna, are you staying here, or what?”

            Luna nodded. “I’ll sleep in Ginny’s room,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s an extra bed.”

            “Glad that’s sorted out,” said Ginny, grinning. “Do you need to borrow pajamas, or anything?”

            “Oh, no.” Luna stood, shoving her knitting back into her bag. “I wore my pajamas under my robes. I came prepared, you see.” She drifted toward the girls’ staircase, pausing at the foot. “Good night, Neville. We’ll see you in the morning.”

            “’Night,” said Neville.

            Ginny heaved herself out of her chair, still holding the bowl of Murtlap Essence. “’Night,” she echoed, and followed Luna upstairs.


	7. Interview with Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny gets interrogated by Snape and the Carrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor torture, thoughts of death, Veritaserum.

Ginny had been back at school for a week when Draco Malfoy appeared at her table during lunch, Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest. She had expected him to regain his usual swagger, now that his side was in charge, but on close inspection, he looked… ill. His normally pale face had a grayish tint to it, his eyes and cheeks were hollow, and he had a hunched, pinched look.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

“Summons from the Headmaster, Weasley,” he answered, sneering. “I’m to take you there at once.”

She felt a sinking in her stomach; she hadn’t really expected to be left alone for long, but that didn’t make her any more ready for an interview—interrogation, probably—with Snape. There was also no way she was going to let Malfoy see how scared she was. “And you’re playing errand boy now, Malfoy?” she said, voice dripping scorn. “Would have thought it‘d be beneath an important Death Eater like you.”

To her surprise, he flinched, mouth tightening to a thin line. “That’s enough,” he said roughly. “Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

Neville, who had been sitting next to her, jumped to his feet. “You touch her and you’ll have me to deal with.”

“And me!” Colin scrambled up on her other side, wand ready.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Stand down, Longbottom, I’m not going to hurt your blood-traitor pal.” He turned back to Ginny, drawing his wand almost lazily. “Come along, Weasley,” he drawled. “Or you’ll be dealing with the Carrows instead of me.”

She didn’t have a choice, and they all knew it. Slowly, she stuffed a last piece of bread in her mouth (she wasn’t hungry, not anymore, but it was the only show of defiance she could think of at the moment) and got to her feet. “I’m coming, Malfoy, no need for the theatrics.”

Behind her, Neville and Colin were still standing, wands out; she could feel their desire to do something, anything, to help her. Starting something would only get them into more trouble. “It’s alright,” she said quietly to them. “I’ll be fine.” Then, a little louder, “It’s only Snape.”

“Come _on_ , Weasley,” snapped Malfoy. She gave him as insolent a look as she could muster, and followed him.

People kept staring at the two of them as they walked along the corridors, Malfoy always two steps ahead of her. Ginny considered stepping on his heels, just to annoy him, but decided she didn’t really want to get that close to him. It was hard to fight back the panic threatening to invade her chest; she gripped her wand far too tightly, staring at the back of Malfoy’s stupid blonde head and his stupid elegant black robes for something to do.

Harry had told her that he didn’t think Malfoy would have killed Dumbledore. Ginny didn’t really care. _He had a choice_ , she thought, noting the nervous twitch of his hands as he pulled aside a tapestry. _He’s had loads of choices, ever since he came here, and he’s always chosen wrong. The fact that he’s a coward as well as a bigot doesn’t really make him a better person._

“Nigellus!” Malfoy barked as they reached the gargoyles, and Ginny startled at the strangeness of the password. Dumbledore had always used candy names—lemon drops and toffee éclairs and licorice wands. “Nigellus” seemed familiar, but she couldn’t remember who or what it meant.  As they rode up the moving staircase to Dumbledore’s—no, Snape’s—office, she picked at it, trying to concentrate on this small, stupid detail rather than whatever she was about to face.

The last time she’d been in the Headmaster’s office, she’d been fourteen, and her father had just been attacked by a giant snake while guarding the Department of Mysteries. She remembered it vividly, in the detail that sometimes accompanies trauma; the tranquil shadows climbing up the walls, the Sorting Hat on a shelf above Dumbledore’s desk, the delicate silver instruments whirring and puffing on tables scattered about the room. At the time, it had felt almost like a dream. She felt that way now, as though she were moving steadily through a nightmare, knowing where it led, powerless to stop it or to wake up. She wondered if this was how Harry felt all the time.

All too soon, they arrived at the oaken double doors, and Malfoy rapped the phoenix-shaped knocker. Ginny wondered whether the knocker had been put there by Dumbledore, and if so, why Snape hadn’t removed it.

One of the doors opened, and Malfoy entered, Ginny trailing behind him. Snape was sitting behind the giant, claw-footed desk, flanked by the Carrows, whose eyes bulged with indecent anticipation. The office was almost the same as last time, except for the absence of Faux; somehow, the continuity felt frightening rather than soothing. _It_ shouldn’t _be the same_ , she thought. _Not now, when everything else is so horribly different._

“I have Weasley,” Malfoy announced, as though this were some accomplishment, as though the prat could have brought her there against her will if she’d chosen to fight him.

“Well, at least the boy can do something right, eh, Severus?” cackled Amycus. “Not like—”

“Enough.” Snape’s voice was quiet, but the Carrows were instantly quelled. “Come here, Weasley.”

Ginny moved forward warily, conscious of Malfoy still standing behind her. She stopped when she was still several feet from the desk. Her fingers were beginning to hurt from gripping her wand so hard; she made a small movement as she tried to relax her hand slightly. Alecto’s eyes narrowed.

_“Expelliarmus!”_

Ginny’s wand flew from her grip, landing with a clatter on Snape’s desk. Alecto smirked at her. “No tricks now, Weasley. Not so cocky now, are ya?”

Looking at Snape rather than acknowledge the Carrows, Ginny said quietly, “Is there a reason that you Disarmed me, sir?” _Are you scared to face a teenage girl on your own, you fucking coward?_

Snape ignored the implied insult, gesturing instead at Malfoy. “You are dismissed, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Sir.” Malfoy sounded far stiffer than she’d ever heard him with Snape; apparently Harry had been right about the rift between them. _Don’t think of Harry. Don’t make it easy for them._

The boy left, shutting the door behind him with a loud click. Suddenly, the large, airy room felt claustrophobic. It took all of Ginny’s strength to stand still, face impassive, staring at the wall behind Snape’s left shoulder. _Don’t make eye contact. Don’t let them know you’re scared._

“Sit,” said Snape, pointing to a straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

She sat, hands folded in her lap, back straight, still not looking at him. There was a long silence. He was probably trying to make her nervous, make her be the first to talk. Well, she wasn’t about to play that game. _I can sit here all afternoon, you bastard. Watch me._

“Where is Harry Potter?” He leaned forward, intent on her, like a particularly greasy bird of prey swooping in on a rodent. Both the Carrows leaned forward, too.

_Think of something else, don’t let him into your mind, think of Quidditch, think of anything—_ “No idea,” she said.

He drew his wand, waving it almost lazily as he directed the spell at her. Her vision was suddenly obscured by a bright light; she felt as though she were falling, and reached out a hand to save herself…

Images and sounds flashed by her, almost too fast for her to recognize. Pain shot through her skull; it felt like someone was dissecting her brain with knives, poking and prodding until she thought she would go mad with the pain of it. And then she fell deeper into memory, and felt nothing at all.

_She and Harry were in her bedroom, his hand on the small of her back, her fingers in his messy hair, and they were kissing as they had never kissed before, with a passion born of desperation, of the knowledge of their impending separation looming over them. Even this, though, disappeared; it was wonderful, it was oblivion, better than firewhiskey, better even than flying; she wanted nothing more than the taste of him, the feel of his body and his hand on her hair…_

_They were in the kitchen, setting the table for another dinner with too many people. Harry was distracted, laying down pieces of silverware at random. Ginny glanced down at Fleur’s place, where Harry had put three spoons and nothing else. She sighed, and he jumped and looked at her with a mixture of guilt and longing._

_“You’re mixing up the settings again,” she said._

_He rubbed his face tiredly. “This really isn’t my forte. I probably should be helping Ron with his room.”_

_Ginny hesitated, checking to make sure no one else was around to overhear._ " _I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she'll be able to delay you leaving._ "

_“And then what does she think’s going to happen?” he muttered. “Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?”_

_She had known, of course, deep down, but she still felt cold inside at the confirmation of her suspicions. “So it’s true? That’s what you’re trying to do?”_

_He suddenly looked shifty. “I—not—I was joking.”_

_They stared at each other. Ginny realized that this was the first time they had been alone together since Hogwarts. Her mind went back to those stolen, sunny moments together on the Hogwarts grounds, and from the look on his face, he was similarly occupied. They both jumped when the door opened, and Bill, Arthur, and Kingsley walked inside…._

_She was sitting outside the sitting room window, listening hard on the extendable ears. Lupin had been looking for Harry, and by the sound of it, he had found him—but the voices from the sitting room were angry, and she was desperate to learn what was going on._

No, not that. He can’t have that.

_“Calm yourself, Remus, for Merlin’s sake,” Arthur snapped, sounding quite unlike himself. “What happened? Where is he?”_

No, he’s not hearing—I won’t let him hear—

_“What happened?”_

She would not let him near this memory, she had to think of something else—something entirely different—

_“He’s—”_

No! She had to think of something, anything— a song, that would do—”

_“Calm yourself, Remus, for Merlin’s sake.”_

She wrenched her mind away from the memory, filling it instead with Celestina Warbeck’s frankly irritating warble.

_I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love_  
_And it's bubbling for you!_  
_Say_ Incendio _, but that spell's not hot_  
_As my special witch's brew!_

_“What happened? Where is he?”_

No, concentrate, concentrate, what’s the next bit, Mum plays it all the time, I’ve got to—

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron_  
_And if you do it right_  
_I'll boil you up some hot, strong love_  
_To keep you warm tonight!_

She was getting the hang of it now, drowning everything else in this idiotic pop song, concentrating fiercely on the lyrics she’d been hearing since she was a child.

_Don't you be afraid, come and take a sip_  
_Of this steamy, tasty treat!_  
_What's in my cauldron full of hot, strong love_  
_Will make your life complete!_

           

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron_  
_And if you do it right…_

The spell lifted. She was on the floor, having apparently fallen off her chair, and her head felt as though it had just had a herd of hippogriffs trample through it, talons and all—but she hadn’t given anything away. The sour look on Snape’s face told her that. Even as she allowed herself a moment of triumph, fear of what would come next swallowed it up and left her cold.

She clambered to her feet, wiping sweaty hands on her robes, as Alecto said eagerly, “Well, Severus? What did you find?”

Snape’s lip curled. “I… didn’t find anything. The girl has a more… chaotic… mind than I anticipated.”

“More’n one way of skinning a Kneazle,” said Amycus. His face was alight with twisted pleasure. “I’ll get ‘er talkin’, never fear.” He raised his wand. “ _Crucio.”_

It was the worst pain she’d ever felt, worse than anything Tom Riddle had ever done to her. She felt as though she were being stabbed and burned and beaten all at once; there was not a single part of her body that wasn’t in agony. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t tell whether she was upright or on the floor, only that she was drowning in it, suffocating on it, blind with it. Someone was screaming, far away; the sound pierced her ears; she was going mad, she was dying, she couldn’t take this anymore and live… _Please, just kill me, let me die, let me die, please, please, I can’t bear it, I can’t take it…._

“ENOUGH!” a voice roared.

The pain subsided, leaving her weak and breathless, and aching all over. She was on the floor again, this time curled on her side, the cold stone pressing against her cheek. Her stomach twisted, and she rolled over just in time to retch on the floor. Over her head, she could hear Snape berating Amycus.

“Idiot! How are we going to get any information from her if she is incapacitated?”

“’Snot like you did any better, Snape,” Amycus snarled. “You couldn’t read ‘er mind.”

“That is far from the only tool at my disposal.” Snape’s voice was cold. “You are a liability to this investigation. Get out, both of you.”

Apparently neither of them was bold enough to argue. As they shuffled past her, Amycus bent down and whispered, “Next time, pretty.” He gave a mad little cackle, and followed his sister out of the office. The door slammed shut behind them.

Ginny sat up, wiping her mouth with a shaking hand. It was almost a surprise that there was no physical evidence of torture; she had half-expected to see knife wounds or burn marks on her skin. The fact that the Carrows had left did not reassure her.

Snape flicked his wand, Vanishing the sick on the floor. “Come and sit, Weasley.”

“What, so you can torture me some other way? I’m fine where I am, thanks.”

“Watch your mouth, Weasley,” he said softly. “You don’t want to get in any more trouble.”

“And what, exactly, would that look like?” Ginny asked wearily. She did, however, push herself off the floor; she didn’t want Snape to think her weakened. Her legs only gave out a few inches from the chair, and she managed to sit rather than fall. As she straightened herself, she noticed something glinting behind Snape’s chair: A ruby on the hilt of a magnificent sword in a glass case. Gryffindor’s sword.

_That’s important_ , she thought, but couldn’t think why; her head hurt too much for coherent thought just now.

A movement from Snape drew her attention back to him. He had produced, from somewhere in his voluminous robes, a small vial full of clear liquid. He held it out to her. “Do you know what this is?”

“Veritaserum?” she guessed.

His lip curled. “Precisely, Weasley. Take two drops of it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

He met her eyes; it was like looking into black tunnels, with no hint of light at the end. “Then, Weasley, I shall force you. It’s your choice.”

“Choice,” she snorted, but took the vial anyway. Once it was in her hand, though, she felt herself freeze. How could she do this without putting up a fight? There were so many people, so many secrets, she might betray. Then again, she didn’t have much of a choice. _I’m wandless_ , she reminded herself. _How can I fight him? He’ll just Imperius me or something, and it’ll make everything even worse._

“I’m waiting,” said Snape.

She gulped, unstoppered the bottle, tipped two drops onto her tongue, and swallowed. As she handed it back, she let her hand jerk a little, and the vial fell and smashed on the floor. She glanced up at Snape. “Oops.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” he said idly. “Now, where is Harry Potter?”

Ginny could feel the potion working on her. It was like being drunk—the sort of drunk that makes you want to tell your deepest secrets to complete strangers, and babble about obscure philosophical concepts in a slurred voice at three o’clock in the morning. She was both light-headed and sleepy, and suddenly only too happy to answer the question. The small part of her that was still lucid watched in horror as she said, “We think he’s at Grimmauld Place.”

“We’ve searched Grimmauld Place, you stupid girl. Yaxley got in last week.”

“The Ministry’s finest,” said Ginny sarcastically. “Isn’t he the one that caved in half the ceiling under the Astronomy Tower last year?”

Snape ignored this, and continued. “Where is Potter likely to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take a wild guess.”

Ginny shook her head. “I really have no idea. He never talked about it with me. And he’s not going to go somewhere predictable, not when you’re all looking for him. He’s not _stupid._ ” The small, sober part of her mind winced at the venom in her voice. The potion not only made her truthful, apparently—it had also removed whatever filter normally kept her from voicing her more scathing thoughts aloud.

“Do you correspond?”

“No.”

“Never?”

Ginny huffed irritably. “Not since we broke up. Look, he _knows_ what’s going on at Hogwarts, he’s not going to risk everything just to owl me. And even if he did, he wouldn’t tell me anything. It’d just be, _Hi Ginny, Hope you’re okay, I’m fine, don’t do anything I would do_. I mean, if he didn’t tell me what he was doing before he left, he’s not going to tell me now.”

Snape tapped his fingers on the desk, impatient. “If you were in danger, would he try to rescue you?”

“If you used me as bait, you mean?” she said sardonically. “Probably. He’d rescue just about anyone, you know. He’d rescue the Giant Squid if he thought it was in trouble.” The potion prompted her, pulling out more unwelcome truths. _The weepy, pathetic stage of drunk_ , part of her realized. “Sometimes, I think, maybe he really doesn’t care that much about me,” she told Snape. “I mean, we only went out for three weeks before we broke up. What if… what if he just… wasn’t that into me? What if he’d really rather be going out with—with Cho Chang, or…”

“Weasley, I am not interested in your idiotic love life,” he snapped. “I’m asking you about Harry Potter!”

“Well, I don’t know about Harry Potter!” retorted Ginny. She was feeling very strange—both reckless and pathetic, if that was even possible. “He didn’t tell me anything, and no one else tells me anything, and I wasn’t even in the Order, and I don’t know what Dumbledore wanted of him, or where he is, or… anything. I don’t know where he is, or what he’s doing, and I hate it! I _hate_ being kept in the dark! I’m not a _child!_ ”

Snape rubbed his face with his hands. He looked as though he might be getting a headache. “Can he still see into the Dark Lord’s mind?”

“I… don’t know,” said Ginny slowly. “I’m pretty sure it stopped last year. He still has nightmares, though.” She pulled a face. “Not that I would know—he’s such a stoic, it’s ridiculous. But Ron told me.”

“That’s enough.” Snape stood, looking pained. “Weasley, you are insufferable. Get out.”

“Can I have my wand?”

“Take it and go.”

Ginny leapt from her seat, grabbed her wand, and made for the door, nearly tripping in her eagerness to leave. She was shaky and dizzy, and her head was throbbing horribly, making it difficult to walk, but Ginny was nothing if not determined. She limped along with one hand on the wall until the feeling began to come back into her legs, and the odd drunken feeling of the potion disappeared.

_No way I’m making it through classes this afternoon,_ she decided. When she got back to Gryffindor Tower, she went straight upstairs and collapsed on her bed.


	8. Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny discusses the interrogation with her friends, and makes some new plans.

She hadn’t given up anything of value. Of that, she was fairly certain. Harry wasn’t at Grimmauld Place anymore—thank Merlin—and she knew so little about his, Ron’s, and Hermione’s plans that there wasn’t anything else she could give away. For the first time, she felt a little more forgiving of Harry’s decision not to tell her anything. _Maybe it_ was _for the best. If he’d told me where exactly he was going…_ She shuddered. That was not a pleasant path to go down.      

There was the memory of Harry admitting he was trying to defeat Voldemort, but anyone with half a brain could have guessed _that._ And her babble about her relationship with Harry had been humiliating, sure, but it had also (apparently) annoyed Snape enough to dismiss her. She couldn’t quite believe her luck on that one. If he’d continued to question her—if he’d asked her about Ron’s Spattergroit, or about Colin’s Blood Status, or her parents’ current activities, there could have been serious consequences. She didn’t even want to think about how badly this could have gone.

_This is mad. I just got tortured, forced to take Veritaserum, and had my mind invaded, and I’m actually grateful that it wasn’t worse._ She leaned back against the headboard, rubbing a hand against her aching head. It was probably deplorably self-indulgent to lie here instead of going out to face the world—or at least Transfiguration—but just now, she couldn’t quite summon the energy to get up. _Just a few more minutes_ , she told herself. _Just a little rest, and I’ll be fine._

But every time she closed her eyes, she was back in Dumbledore’s—Snape’s—office, with the pain and fear and the leering faces of the Carrows. It was hard to think of anything else, and so she let herself go over it again, every question, every detail… and as she did, she remembered, again, the Sword of Gryffindor in the case behind Snape’s desk. _Why is it here? Didn’t the Ministry have it?_

She leaned forward, head in hands, and tried to concentrate. Dumbledore had left the sword to Harry, but Rufus Scrimgeour had refused to give it to him. _Some bullshit about it not belonging to Dumbledore in the first place, like anyone else had the right to it...._ This felt like a tangent. She went back to her original thought. _Dumbledore left the sword to Harry. Why?_

A memory surfaced: Harry at his birthday party, talking about Scrimgeour’s ridiculous accusations. _Did Dumbledore believe that only the Sword of Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin?_ Ginny opened her eyes, staring at the canopy of her bed. _Could_ the Sword of Gryffindor defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Or was there some other reason that Dumbledore had left the sword to Harry? And if there was… if the sword could help Harry in some way… maybe she could find a way to get it to him.

She thought about this, still staring blindly upward. If Dumbledore had left the sword to Harry, then there was a reason for it. She didn’t know what that reason was—or if even Harry knew what the reason was, although Dumbledore must have told him _something_ during all those private lessons last year—but the fact that Dumbledore thought it was important was enough. _All I have to do is get hold of it somehow._

_Right. Just walk into Snape’s office and grab it, and send an owl with it to Harry._ She had to grin at the thought, but the ridiculousness of that particular scenario was quickly replaced with determination. This was something she could do, a way to help defeat Voldemort. They—for of course Neville, Luna, and Colin would want in—could figure out how to get the sword to Harry once they stole it. For now, she would need a plan.

***

McGonagall pounced on her the minute she entered the Great Hall. “Weasley!”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Would you care to explain your absence from my class this afternoon?”

Ginny strove to keep her voice calm. “Sn—the Headmaster called me to his office, Professor.”

“All afternoon?”

“No.” Ginny met the older woman’s eyes, trying to express what she couldn’t say aloud.  “I… felt ill, afterward, so I went to my room.”

McGonagall’s nostrils flared, though Ginny wasn’t sure whom her anger was directed toward. “If you didn’t go to the Hospital Wing, it’s not an excuse, Miss Weasley. Detention for you, tonight, in my office.”

Her mouth fell open at the unfairness of this. “Professor—”

“No arguments, Miss Weasley. I will see you at seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.” She turned on her heel and strode away, before Ginny could utter another word.

Seething, she stalked over to the Gryffindor table, where Neville, Colin, and Luna were waiting for her. The others made room for her as she sat down, looks of concern on their faces.

“How did it go?” Neville asked in a low voice, leaning across the table toward her.

Ginny shook her head. “Not here.”

 “Room of Requirement?” Luna murmured. “After dinner?”

Another shake of the head. “I’ve got detention with McGonagall.”

“What?” said Colin in confusion. “What for?”

She scowled at her plate, dumping another spoonful of mashed potatoes onto it with more force than was strictly necessary. “I missed Transfiguration.”

“Didn’t you tell her that Snape…”

“Yeah. She said that wasn’t an excuse.”

Neville looked horrified. “Blimey. That’s…”

“That’s totally unfair!” Colin’s voice rose in indignation. “Doesn’t she _realize—_ ”

“Apparently not, Colin, and let’s not start shouting about it, yeah?” snapped Ginny. “I don’t need to get in more trouble for whingeing about it.” She could hear the bitterness in her own voice as she added, “McGonagall’s got every right to give me detention. I skipped class.”

 “Only because—”

Luna kicked Colin under the table, interrupting him. “Ginny doesn’t want to talk about this right now,” she said, pouring herself a glass of Pumpkin Juice. “Let’s talk about Quidditch.”

 “Since when do you know anything about Quidditch?”

“I commentated for a match last year, you know.”

 “Yeah, I remember that,” said Seamus, sliding onto the bench next to her. “That was bloody brilliant, that was.”

 “Do you think so?” asked Luna. “Everyone told me I did a terrible job.”

Neville appeared to consider this seriously. “I think that depends on what you think a commentator is supposed to do. If they’re mostly there for entertainment value—”

“Then our Luna’s right up there with Lee-bloody-Jordan,” Seamus completed.

Ginny wasn’t sure whether it was the compliment or the “our” before her name that did it, but she’d seldom seen Luna beam like that. Her face became positively luminous. “That’s a very nice thing to say,” she told Seamus.

“Cheers, Luna.”

As the others chattered around her, Ginny felt something in her lighten. _We’re still here,_ she thought, watching Luna’s eyes light up at a joke from Neville, at Colin leaning forward, narrow face intense as he excitedly described some new idea to Seamus. _And we’ve got each other. As dark as everything is right now, at least we have this._

***

At five to seven, Ginny knocked on the door of McGonagall’s office.

“Enter.”

She obeyed, trying to keep her face free of the anger she felt at being here at all. “’Evening, Professor.”

“Good evening, Miss Weasley.” McGonagall set down her quill and pushed her spectacles higher up on her nose. “Please close the door and sit down.”

  _At least she’s saying please,_ thought Ginny as she sat. She glanced around surreptitiously, but saw no sign of what she’d be doing for detention. _Bugger. I hate not knowing things._

“You’ll be copying out lesson plans for me tonight, Miss Weasley,” said McGonagall, as though reading her thoughts. “If you will just sit there, I’ll get them out.”

She rose, but rather than fetching anything, she moved her wand in a complicated gesture, pointing at each corner of the room. Ginny gasped as glowing blue symbols appeared on the walls and ceiling. McGonagall waved her wand again, and the symbols turned dark green. Another wave, and they disappeared altogether. The professor turned back to Ginny with a satisfied expression. “There. Now we can talk in private.”

Ginny gaped at her. “I thought this was detention…?”

“For such a clever young woman, you can be lamentably slow on the uptake,” said McGonagall crisply. “I can’t have the Carrows or _Professor—”_ her eyes narrowed, and she made the title sound like an insult—“Snape suspecting that I’m talking with you about anything of import. I’ve modified the listening spells in here, so we should be safe enough.”

“You can modify listening spells?”

McGonagall nodded. “Right now, they’re picking up the sound of paper rustling and the occasional comment from one of us regarding a lesson plan. I’ll return them to normal once you leave.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?” blurted Ginny. “That’d be really useful to know.”

“Of course.” McGonagall smiled approvingly. “But first, I want to know what happened with… _Professor_  Snape.”

Ginny could feel herself tense; some of her feelings must have shown in her face, because McGonagall shoved a tartan tin at her and said, “Have a biscuit.”

 “Oh. Thanks.” She took the biscuit, but didn’t eat it, frowning instead at the floor as she put her thoughts in order. “He… he wanted to know about Harry. Obviously. He tried Legilemency on me…”

McGonagall drew in a sharp breath, shoulders going rigid.

“I don’t think he got anything much,” said Ginny. “I… he saw Harry—telling me he was going after You-Know-Who, but, I mean, that’s pretty obvious….”

 “I should think so,” McGonagall agreed.

 “Yeah. And then he tried to see some—other stuff—and I thought of an annoying song, and I think… I think it drove him out.”

 Another approving smile crossed McGonagall’s face. “Very good.”

 “Yeah.” Ginny took a deep breath. This was surprisingly hard to talk about, although part of that could be because McGonagall had never exactly been a confidante. “And then the Carrows—they were there, too—they used the Cruciatus.”

McGonagall stood so swiftly that Ginny jumped in her seat. “They didn’t.” Her voice was ominously low. “This is… this is an abomination. Using Unforgiveable Curses on students… particularly _that_ curse…” She strode around the room, face tight with fury. Ginny had almost forgotten exactly how dangerous she looked when she was angry. It was scary… scarier, in a way, than Snape had been, although at least this wasn’t directed at her. “Very well,” she said at last, still with that controlled rage that made Ginny very, very glad not to be a Carrow right now. “Are you all right?”

“I…” Ginny thought about it. Normally, she would have lied, but just now she was _so damn tired_ , and just for once, she didn’t have the energy to be brave. “Not really,” she said at last. “It was… pretty awful.”

 “I can imagine.” McGonagall took a deep breath, running a hand over her smooth grey hair. “I’m going to get us both a cup of tea. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but… I’ve found that it helps. I used to…” She paused, cleared her throat, began again. “I used to talk with Albus, when things were… difficult.”

 Ginny was taken aback. She had never pictured McGonagall being the type to talk about… well, it was hard to imagine her talking about anything that wasn’t strictly business-related. She always seemed so… independent. For the first time, it occurred to her that that independence must have come with a fair share of loneliness. “I never thought,” she said slowly. “Dumbledore… that must have been… really hard for you.”

At a wave of McGonagall’s wand, a teapot swooped over and began pouring tea into two cups. She waited until the pot had thumped back onto the desk before saying, “Confiding in others….does not come easily to me, I fear. There are few people I can discuss… feelings… with. But Albus… we understood each other, I think. Well, as much as anyone could comprehend Albus.” She laughed slightly, sighing with it. “I have to admit, I’m rather adrift without him. We all are, I think. And Severus… is not exactly a replacement.”

 “No,” Ginny agreed. “He is not.” She took a sip of tea. “At least he stopped the Carrows… after a bit.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Those bastards.” At Ginny’s startled expression, she smiled humorlessly. “I’m not usually one for swearing—especially in front of students—but—”

 “They deserve every foul word thrown at them,” said Ginny vehemently. “They’re worse than Umbridge.”

“And that is saying something.”

“Yeah.”

McGonagall set down her teacup and gave her another smile, sad and unexpectedly sympathetic. “As I said, Ginny… if you want to talk about… what happened—I’ve never had Albus’s way with students, but I can offer a listening ear to anything you want to say.”

 For a moment, Ginny hesitated… but somehow, it felt right to discuss this with her. _Maybe because we’re in the same boat—we’re both stuck here, and we both want to fight, and we have so little power. And… I know she won’t baby me. She won’t tell me this is too much for me, or fuss… and she doesn’t look up to me, either. I don’t have to be brave. Not for Minerva McGonagall._

So she talked.

She talked about the Cruciatus Curse, and how Snape’s Legilimency had left her feeling violated, her memories looked through and discarded like clothes in a wardrobe. She talked about the pain, about the panic she’d felt when she took the Veritaserum. How she’d embarrassed herself in front of Snape, how it had felt to know that he could wrest her secrets from her with nothing more than a question. Her fear that she’d betray Harry, or the Order, or the Muggle-borns she’d helped that summer.

And McGonagall listened. She let Ginny talk, and refilled her teacup, and offered the biscuit tin, which Ginny was beginning to recognize as an offering of comfort. Her face was stiff with anger, but she kept silent, and Ginny was grateful for the lack of interruption. Just now, she was too full of her own emotions to want to deal with someone else’s, and it was a relief to pour everything out to someone who took it calmly, without trying to fuss over her or get upset on her behalf. Her mother would have cried and scolded; Colin and Neville would rage, when she told them, and Luna’s eyes would go wide with pity. McGonagall just waited until she was done.

 “Thank you for telling me this,” she said, when Ginny had finished. “I’m afraid I can offer little in the way of advice, although I believe there is an antidote to Veritaserum. I suggest you look it up in the library. You should probably research Occlumency, too. I’d be happy to write you a pass to the Restricted Section.”

 “Thanks.” Ginny hesitated, then said, “Professor… is what I did—alright? I mean, do you think I gave anything away?”

McGonagall’s warm smile belied the worry in her eyes. “Ginny, I doubt that the most qualified witch or wizard could have done better than you did today. You are a credit to our House.”

 Ginny ducked her head, blushing. “I guess I’ll have to stop ragging on Mum about Celestina Warbeck, now.”

 The professor actually laughed, surprising both of them. “From now on, every time I look at Severus Snape I’m going to remember that he was beaten by ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.’”

***

                       

When the clock chimed eight, Ginny reluctantly got to her feet.

 “I’d better go. I promised Luna and Neville and Colin I’d meet them after this, and I’d rather not break curfew.”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, yes, run along. And Miss Weasley…”

Ginny registered the renewed use of her surname, and suppressed a smile. “Yes, Professor?”

_“Do_ try to stay out of trouble, won’t you?”

She hesitated for a long moment, deciding how to respond, and at last settled on the truth. “I’ll try not to get caught.”

There was a pause; then McGonagall sighed. “Sometimes I forget who your older brothers are,” she said. “Very well. Don’t get caught.”

Ginny grinned. “That’s the plan, Professor.” And slipped out, before McGonagall could respond.

 

The others were waiting for her in the Room of Requirement, which had transformed itself into a cozy space with a soft rug, a glowing fire, and shelves full of books and stacks of paper. A huge printing press dominated the room, and Luna was bending over it, tapping it with her wand and muttering. She already had a smear of ink on her forehead. Neville sat in a chair by the fireplace, frowning thoughtfully as he paged through a textbook. Nearby, Colin lay on the floor with a stack of papers in front of him, writing quickly with a mechanical pencil.

 “Hullo,” said Neville, looking up from his book. “How’d detention go?”

 “It wasn’t. Detention, I mean.” Ginny sat down on the floor beside Colin. “She wanted to talk to me. It was… nice, actually. Weird, but nice.”

 “Better you than me,” said Colin. “McGonagall’s scary.”

“And you claim to be a Gryffindor,” she teased.

Colin laughed with her. “Aw, come on, I bet old Godric himself would’ve thought twice before crossing _her._ I still get nightmares about the time she caught me trying to fly to the top of the Astronomy Tower on a school broom.”

“You deserved every minute of that detention.”

 “You _always_ side against me.”

 At that moment, there was a loud bang from the press, followed by a lot of purple smoke. Luna emerged from the cloud, coughing. “I think I’ve got it working now.”

“Yeah?” said Ginny drily. “I thought maybe you were trying to blow it up.”

 “We just have to finish the copy now,” Luna continued, ignoring her. “Did you find out about the Anti-Muggle-Born Exclusion Act, Neville?”

 “Let me just finish this page.”

Colin turned to Ginny. “Would you mind looking this over? I’m never sure about where the commas are supposed to go….”

Ginny had never been entirely comfortable with commas, either, but she took the pages he’d written anyway. “Sure. This is the pamphlet, yeah?”

He nodded.

 “Cool.” She flipped through the pages, years of reading Ron’s and Charlie’s letters coming to her aid as she deciphered Colin’s enthusiastic, but nearly unreadable, scrawl. As she used her wand to rearrange a line of text, she heard whispering from the direction of the press. She looked up, and caught Neville and Luna hastily turning away from her. Ginny sighed. “Guys, if you want to say something to me, then say it.”

Neville cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “We were just… a little worried. After this afternoon, I mean. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but—”

 “Was it awful?” asked Colin, who had never learned tact.

 “Of course it was awful,” Ginny snapped. “This is Snape we’re talking about.”

Luna drifted closer, dropping to the floor next to Ginny. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” she said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “We just want to be able to help.”

Ginny flopped onto her back, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t really want to go into it right now. I already hashed the whole thing over with McGonagall.”

 “That’s fine,” said Neville quickly, just as Colin said, “But—”

“You should know what you’re in for, though, in case he goes after any of you lot,” Ginny added. She sighed again. “OK, so it was Snape and the Carrows….”

She didn’t go into great detail, but what she told them was enough. Their reactions were pretty much as she had expected; Neville went red with anger, and actually kicked a chair before he got control of himself; Luna smiled sympathetically, and offered her a homemade candy that Ginny wasn’t quite brave enough to try; and Colin swore quite a lot at the top of his lungs before Neville finally cuffed him on the arm and told him to shut up. Ginny knew she should feel grateful for their anger on her behalf—she _did_ feel grateful—but it mostly just made her feel tired.

_I’m not really equipped to deal with other people’s emotions right now,_ she realized. She felt raw and vulnerable, and somehow she didn’t want her friends to see her that way. _At least Luna’s taking this calmly. Thank Merlin._

Colin’s diatribe on the Carrows in particular and Death Eaters in general was starting to wind down, and Ginny took the opportunity to say, “McGonagall taught me another way to deal with the Listening Spells. It’s a modification charm, so they only hear what you want it to hear.”

“Brilliant,” said Luna. “Much less suspicious than just blocking them.”

“Let’s come back here tomorrow and practice,” Neville suggested. He seemed to have calmed down, though he still looked tense. “We’ve all got a free period before lunch, right?”

“Not me,” said Colin glumly. “I’ve got—”

“History of Magic,” the others finished for him.

“I’ll teach it to you when you’ve got time,” Ginny promised. “But I think we had better meet as soon as we can—we should finish up the pamphlet, too.” She hesitated, glancing at her watch: it was almost nine, but this was important. “There’s one other thing. When I was in Snape’s office, I noticed… he’s got Gryffindor’s sword in there.”

“Git,” said Colin.

The other two looked confused. “Yeah?” Neville prompted her.

She frowned back at them, then realized. “Oh, right, you wouldn’t know about this. Uh… Dumbledore left the sword to Harry, in his will.”

“Then why…?”

“Scrimgeour wouldn’t give it to him,” said Ginny sourly. “I expect he thought Harry was up to something.”

“That’s a fair guess, with Harry,” Neville pointed out.

 “True,” she admitted. “Doesn’t make him any less of a wanker.”

“Scrimgeour, or Harry?”

Ginny had to smile at that. “Scrimgeor, obviously. Well, mostly. Anyway, so Dumbledore wanted to leave Harry the sword, but the Ministry said he couldn’t, so now Snape has it.”

The others looked at her blankly, apparently still not getting it.

“Don’t you see?” said Ginny impatiently. “ _Dumbledore wanted Harry to have the sword._ Dumbledore gave Harry a secret mission, and he wanted him to have the sword. I don’t see how a sword’s going to defeat You-Know-Who, but… if it’ll give Harry a better chance, I think we could take it.”

Neville was frowning at her. “So… you think we should somehow get the sword to Harry?”

“Exactly.” Ginny leaned forward, intent. “We’ll have to get it out of Snape’s office, and then we’ll have to figure out how to get it to Harry. But if Dumbledore thought it was important, then it is.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Colin pointed out.

“So?”

“So that sounds good.” He smiled crookedly. “Always happiest when I can throw myself rashly into a life-or-death situation.”

“I don’t think they’d kill students,” said Luna thoughtfully. “Not openly, anyway.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” Ginny looked over to Neville. “Are we agreed, then? We’re going to do this?”

Neville grinned wolfishly, looking positively fierce. For a moment, she wondered where the hapless, helpless boy she thought she’d known had gone. Perhaps it had only ever been a soft exterior; perhaps it took something dire to draw out his true self. “I’m in,” he said.


	9. The Informant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Slytherin offers to provide Ginny with information on the Carrows. But can Ginny really trust her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of self-harm; eating disorder implied.

“Ginny Weasley?”

The voice was unfamiliar. Ginny turned to see a pale, blonde girl with a green and silver tie standing behind her. She was short, and thin to the point of emaciation, her cheeks and eyes hollowed. Ginny was reminded of how Harry had looked, that first summer he’d stayed with them after Ron and the twins rescued him from the Dursleys. The memory made her answer more gently than she might have otherwise. “Yes?”

The girl looked nervous. “Can I… can I talk to you in private?”

“Why?”

She cast a glance about the crowded entrance hall, tugging at her left sleeve. “I… it’s important. Please.”

Ginny stared at her for a long moment; then, against her better judgment, gave a short nod. “Alright. Follow me. Not too close.”

She set off down the corridor, tense in the expectation of a curse shot while her back was turned; through a door pretending to be a tapestry, and into a deserted classroom. With a wave of her wand, she modified the room’s listening spells; the charm had become second nature to her at this point, as she had to use it almost every time she met with her friends. She cast a _Muffliato_ on the door, then, for good measure, added, _“Colloportus._ ” The Slytherin girl jumped as the lock clicked behind her.

Satisfied, Ginny leaned against a desk, facing the girl. “Well? Who are you, anyway?”

“Astoria Greengrass.” Her voice was quiet, and her eyes flitted around the room like those of a trapped animal. “Are you sure we can’t be overheard?”

“Yes.” Ginny didn’t elaborate. “So what does a Slytherin want with me?”

Astoria came a step closer, hands twisting in her robes. “You’re Harry Potter’s girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” corrected Ginny. Astoria ignored the interruption.

“Everyone knows you stood up to Carrow in Muggle Studies the other day. The Slytherins think you’re planning something. That you and Longbottom and Lovegood are going to bring back…” She lowered her voice still further. “Dumbledore’s Army.”

Ginny tried to keep her expression neutral. _Of course they’re suspicious of me_ , she reassured herself. _It doesn’t take a genius to realize that I’m going to resist the Carrows. But they can’t prove it. They don’t have any evidence._ “So?” she said aloud. “You know how rumors spread around here. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I want to help.”

“What?!”

Astoria’s face was earnest, her too-big eyes pleading. “Please, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I want to help resist—them. It’s—it’s wrong, what they’re doing, and I can’t just… I _can’t_ sit by, and there’s no one… no one else I can trust.”

Ginny stared at her. Of all the things she had expected Astoria to say to her, this wasn’t it. At last she said, cautiously, “If I _was_ planning anything, why should I trust you? The Greengrasses are Purebloods.”

“So are the Weasleys.”

“But I’m not in Slytherin.” She folded her arms. “So. Why should I trust you?”

 “Look, I just want to help!” Astoria waved her hands in frustration. “You don’t have to tell me anything, you don’t even have to admit that you really are part of Dumbledore’s Army. But I’m in Slytherin, and a lot of my housemates are related to Death Eaters, and some of them are pretty cozy with the Carrows. I can give you information—any information you need. Look, the world isn’t divided into good people and Slytherins!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” snorted Ginny, but she looked the girl over curiously. She might just be a very good actor, but… there was a sincerity in her voice that seemed real. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “What’s in it for you?”

Astoria hesitated. “I… My mum was friends with Amelia Bones. Me and Susan grew up together.  I just… I know I should just keep my head down, and get along, I know it’s safer that way, but… Madam Bones never cared if it was safe. She cared about justice. And they murdered her.” She looked at the floor, fiddling with her sleeves again. “I’m not… I can’t stay neutral. Not after that.”

There was a silence, while Ginny tried to make a decision. Astoria seemed sincere, and they did need information…. But… trust a Slytherin? _Dumbledore trusted Snape, and look where that got him._ It would be safer not to accept her offer, to deny any involvement with the D.A. and leave while she could. The words of the Sorting Hat rang in her mind. _“For tolerance and partnership alone can make us great.” Does that mean partnership with Slytherins, too? Oh, what the hell. We need information—I’ll deal with the consequences when I have to._ “Alright,” she said. “But only if Susan vouches for you.”

“Thank you!” Astoria positively beamed, her skeletal face lighting like a beacon. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

“I better not be.”

“You won’t,” said Astoria again, and tugged at her sleeve.

Ginny frowned as she registered the gesture. She’d seen it before… “Let me see your arm,” she said.

Astoria looked suddenly frightened. “Why?”

“Because I want to see if you’ve got the Dark Mark,” said Ginny. “Just in case.”

The girl looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I… I guess that’s fair.” She took a deep breath, and pulled up her sleeve.

At first, all Ginny saw was the pale underside of her arm, so white as to be almost blue. Then she noticed the thin lines across it, little raised scars marching in rows from wrist to elbow. She leaned forward, gently touching the scars with her fingertips, then looked up into Astoria’s anxious grey eyes. “Who did this to you?”

“I… nobody.”

“Nonsense,” said Ginny, straightening. “These clearly aren’t natural. What happened?”

“I…” Astoria seemed to be having difficulty. She pulled her sleeve back down to hide the scars. “It was me,” she said at last. “I… sometimes I can’t stop myself. I haven’t… I haven’t done it in awhile, though. I’m loads better,” she added, in the defiant tone of someone expecting an argument. “Besides, it’s none of your business.”

“Alright, keep your shirt on.” Ginny raised her hands in submission. “You’re right, it’s none of my business. And I can’t miss Transfiguration again, so….”

“You’ll ask Susan about me?” Astoria asked. The defensiveness had gone as quickly as it had come, and she had that puppy-dog pleading look in her eyes again. Ginny sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll ask her.” She unlocked the door, and held it open. “After you.”

Astoria preceded her out the door, and Ginny used the moment to remove the charms she had set. Then she hurried off in the opposite direction, taking a shortcut toward the Transfiguration classroom. She had a lot to think about.

***

At dinner, Ginny headed over to the Hufflepuff table and slid into a seat next to Susan Bones. “Hey, Susan. How was your summer?”

Susan, who had talked with Ginny both on the train and by letter, raised an eyebrow. “Miserable. How was yours?”

“Same.” Ginny moved her wand under the table, casting a _Muffliato_ on their nearest neighbors, and trusting to the noise in the Great Hall to mask their conversation. “Visit any friends?”

“A few.”

“Astoria Greengrass?”

“Ah.” Susan frowned. “What do you want to know?”

“I met her earlier today,” said Ginny carefully. “She mentioned that you and she grew up together. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about her.”

“And this is just idle curiosity, is it?”

“You know me! Always idle, always curious, and never any ulterior motives.” Ginny flashed a cheerful, almost manic grin. “So, what’s up with Greengrass?”

Susan nodded slowly, taking a sip of Pumpkin Juice. “Well… I’ve known Astoria since we were little. Her mum and my mum and my aunty were really close growing up. She’s had a… a rough time, I think. She’s a bit of an odd duck in Slytherin.”

“How so?”

“She’s a… well, a bleeding heart,” explained Susan. “Ever since we were little, she was always trying to take care of everybody else—orphaned Puffskeins, friends, House-Elves—she was the one I talked to when I broke up with Leanne, and when my aunty—well, anyway, she’s just a kind person, and that’s not really in fashion in Slytherin right now.”

“How’d she end up there, then?”

Susan shrugged. “She’s clever, is Astoria. And she’s really, really ambitious—wants to be the best Healer in the world. But she doesn’t believe in all that blood-purity rubbish, and, again, that’s not really the thing just now. She knows better than to argue about it, though—she just keeps her head down and keeps quiet, which is probably why no one’s hexed her yet.”

She thought about this, chewing her lip. Around her, the other Hufflepuffs chattered and passed dishes to each other, companionably ignoring the Gryffindor in their midst. As far as she could tell, no one was taking the slightest interest in their conversation. “The scars on her arms,” she said at last. “Tell me about that.”

“Oh.” The Hufflepuff looked suddenly nervous. “It’s not really… um… she gets really… unhappy… sometimes—well, it’s depressing, isn’t it, living in the dungeons all the time?  And she doesn’t have many friends. And she needs an… outlet, I suppose, so… sometimes she cuts herself. Or she did. I keep asking her to tell me when she gets to that point, but… it’s hard to get through, sometimes.” She hesitated. “I don’t normally say anything about it, but… I assume you’ve got a good reason, so.”

This was not what she had expected. The pity and sympathy she felt for Astoria was overwhelming, and suddenly she wanted to do more than simply accept information from her. “Don’t worry,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m not intending to repeat any of this.”

“Good.” Susan’s eyes met hers, and Ginny knew that the other girl had a fairly good idea of what was behind these questions.

“One last thing,” said Ginny. “Do you trust her?”

Susan hesitated. “I would trust her with any secret, any plan,” she said slowly. “I don’t think she’d take a curse for me, or to risk her life for a cause. But she doesn’t let things slip. Whatever she’s offered you, Ginny, she means it, and she won’t go back on her word.”

Ginny nodded, satisfied. “That’s good enough for me.”

***

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” said Colin. They were in the Room of Requirement, putting the finishing touches on their pamphlet design. “You’re going to let a _Slytherin_ in the D.A?”

Ginny glared at him. “I’m not letting her _into_ the D.A., Colin, I’m letting her give me information. We don’t have to tell her anything.”

“What if she gives us false information on purpose?” he demanded. “What if this is some kind of trap?”

“Susan Bones vouched for her…”

“Susan likes everybody.”

“I trust her judgment,” said Neville mildly. “Susan’s always been smart about her friends.”

“Well, I don’t!” Colin folded his arms. “Do you realize what we’re risking, here?!”

Ginny felt herself flushing with anger. “Let’s see,” she said sarcastically. “In the past week, I’ve gotten tortured by the Carrows three times, Snape invaded my mind, and I got forced to take Veritaserum. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of the risks, Colin!”

“This isn’t just about you!” shouted Colin. He took a step forward, face white with fury. “If we go down, it won’t be just the four of us! It’ll be Dennis, and Ritchie, and the Patils, and Justin… our families, all the people we’ve forged for. So you might get more detentions or a slap on the wrist… I’m Muggle-born, Ginny, this is life or death for me!”

He stopped, breathing hard, and Ginny felt a lump come into her throat. She put her hands on his shoulders, and felt him trembling. “Colin,” she said softly. “I know. I really do get it. But… we’re fighting a war. We need information, and this is probably the best chance we’re going to get.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve all got people to protect, Colin. I know how risky this is. But I can’t see a better way.”

Colin gulped and nodded, looking at the floor. Luna approached him from the side, and laid an ink-stained hand on his back. “It’ll be alright, Colin,” she said seriously. “Astoria’s a very nice girl. She helped me find my shoes one year, when somebody took them right before Christmas break.”

“Besides,” said Ginny, stepping away, “it’s not like I haven’t thought about this. I’ve taken precautions.”

“What kind of precautions?” asked Neville warily.

She grinned and pulled a piece of paper from her robes; it bore Astoria’s signature on it. “Remember Marietta Edgecombe? Hermione taught me the spell she used, and I made a few modifications of my own.”

Answering grins spread across the faces of the others. Neville took the paper from her, eyes dancing wickedly.

“Excellent.”

“Does Astoria know?” asked Luna.

“Yeah, I told her. She didn’t hesitate.” Ginny stowed the parchment back in her pocket. “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I rather like her. She seems like a decent sort.”

“A decent Slytherin.” Neville shook his head. “Will wonders never cease.”


	10. The Hogwarts House-Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny talks to House-Elves.

TEN THINGS THE MINISTRY DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW:

The Lies You’ve Learned about Muggle-Borns  


  1. _Muggle-Borns Steal Magic: FALSE._



_Muggle-Borns inherit magic, just like other wizards! According to multiple studies (Rosenthal et al., Gabriel and Jorkins, Woodhouse et al), magic is a gene passed on from one person to another. It can lie dormant in generations of Muggles, then suddenly pop up again._

_So Muggle-Borns aren’t really Muggles—they’re long-lost descendents of Wizarding families!_

  1. _Muggles and Muggle-borns Present a Threat to Purebloods: FALSE._



_Some of our greatest inventors and heroes were actually Muggle-borns, or worked closely with Muggles to achieve success! One of the most famous examples is Merlin, who mentored the Muggle King Arthur during his reign. Other examples include…_

Ginny looked up at Luna, who was reading the pamphlet over her shoulder. “Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect,” said Luna happily. “And I can print four hundred copies in one go, so we can distribute to the whole school!”

“Right.” She glanced toward the press, which was churning out copies of the brightly-colored pamphlets. The front cover sported a silhouette of a squat, Carrow-like figure pointing a wand at a chalkboard, while students in the foreground sat with their hands shackled to their desks. Animated flies buzzed around their heads and crawled in and out of their ears. It had been Neville’s idea, more or less, and Luna had done the actual drawing. It had a sinister feel to it that made even Ginny, who had seen it hundreds of times over the past few days, shiver. Actually, she thought it got creepier the more she looked at it.

“I’ll go talk to Dobby, then,” she said, and Luna gave a little wave in answer. She was already fiddling with the press again, her face and hands smeared with multi-colored ink.

 

She took a circuitous route down to the kitchens, in case anyone was watching her. _I could really use Harry’s Invisibility Cloak right now,_ she thought to herself. _Or at the very least the Marauder’s Map._ Of course, Harry needed his Cloak more than she did, but the map… _I wish he’d given it to me. It’s not like it’s any use to him… wherever he is._ For a moment, she allowed herself to dwell on her irritation; she hated not knowing things, and it was frustrating to realize that Harry had held onto something that she could have used. _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. _It’s not like you thought of it, either, and he probably would have given it to you if you asked._

She peered around the corner of the corridor, and, seeing no one, went quickly to the fruit painting that disguised the entrance to the kitchens. At her touch, the pear giggled and squirmed, transforming into a doorknob. With a last look around the deserted hallway, Ginny ducked inside.

For a moment, she simply stood and stared, wondering if she’d walked into the wrong room. She’d been in the kitchens a few times before, usually to help Fred and George steal food and other items, and she was used to seeing the place bustling with tea-towel-clad Elves. The scene that met her eyes was very different.

The Elves were there, and they were bustling, but at least half of them were wearing clothes. Even more of them wore knobbly wool hats that she instantly recognized as Hermione’s work. And although many of them were working, it seemed that just as many were scattered in small groups, talking earnestly in low voices. The air of the place had gone from cheerful and busy to frenetic and anxious.

 _They’re planning something,_ Ginny realized.

“Can we help you?”

A tall (by House-Elf standards) Elf was standing before her, peering up with wide grey eyes. The creature wore a tea-towel tucked into a jean-skirt, jelly-shoes, and one of Hermione’s hats. There was a livid bruise on her cheek, and her expression was suspicious, a marked difference from the almost uncomfortable subservience Ginny had encountered in the past.

“I’m—er—I’m looking for Dobby,” she said, trying not to stare. “Is he here?”

“Zaza will go fetch him,” said the Elf. “Wait here, please.”

Zaza hurried away, weaving in and out of the crowd with ease. The other Elves watched Ginny as though she were a Grindylow in a goldfish pond, and she found herself growing more and more nervous. Maybe this was a mistake.

At long last, Dobby’s familiar face came into view. “Dobby is here, miss!” he squeaked. “What is Miss Wheezy wanting?”

Ginny looked around, and saw a number of House-Elves hastily averting their eyes. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” she asked quietly. “In private?”

“Of course, miss! This way!” Dobby led her across the room, toward a corner that had been curtained off from the rest. When they reached it, he twitched the curtain aside, revealing a couple of chairs and a small table. Ginny waited until he had closed the curtain again before speaking.

“What is this—um—area for?”

“It was Winky’s idea, miss. We doesn’t have much privacy, miss, so she thought we should have a—a private spot. Once the curtain is closed, no one can hear from outside.”

Ginny was impressed, and said so.

Dobby beamed. “We is very pleased with it, miss. Now, what does Miss Wheezy want to talk with Dobby about?”

Ginny sat down and pulled one of the pamphlets out of her bag, thanking Merlin for Undetectable Extension Charms. “We made this pamphlet, to protest the rubbish we’re being taught about Muggle-borns. I was wondering… is there any way you could put these in the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dormitories? I can do Gryffindor, and Luna will do Ravenclaw, but we don’t have anyone in the other Houses—at least, not anyone we feel comfortable asking.”

He took the pamphlet, clucking his tongue as he scanned the pages. “This is a good thing you are doing,” he declared. “Dobby will help. Dobby can do all of the dormitories, if Miss Wheezy wants—it will be less suspicious, that way.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” said Ginny gratefully. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Dobby is happy to help. These are… bad, Dark wizards, miss. The House-Elves doesn’t like them at all, miss.”

“Is that why…” she hesitated. “Is that why they’re wearing clothes?”

“Yes, miss. Professor McGonagall warned us, right after Professor Dumbledore…” He trailed off, his eyes suddenly swimming with tears. “She said there might be someone in charge who we didn’t want to obey, and we should think about freedom as a… as a precaution, miss.”

“And they changed their minds? Just like that?”

He shook his head. “No, miss. It was after what happened to Zaza, miss.”

A feeling of apprehension twisted Ginny’s stomach. “What… what happened to Zaza?” she asked slowly.

“Professor Carrow used her for a target in Dark Arts, miss. She couldn’t disobey.”

Ginny felt nauseous. “When did this happen?”

“Two days ago, miss. We got Professor McGonagall to give us as many clothes as she could, and Dobby gave away all his hats, but we ran out. Professor Flitwick promised to get us more, miss.”

“It doesn’t have to be a professor, does it?”

“No, miss.”

“Then here.” Ginny removed her boots, then her socks, performing a quick cleaning charm before placing them on the table. Her jumper came next, then the gloves she’d tucked into her bag, and finally her school tie. “These should free a few more, right?”

Dobby gave her another toothy smile. “Oh, yes, miss!”

“OK. Take my bag, and I’ll go give these out.” She pushed aside the curtain, and almost ran into Zaza, who had been hovering nearby with that same mistrustful look on her face.

“Hi, Zaza,” said Ginny. “I’ve got some more clothes here. Is there anyone else who wants to be freed?”

Zaza’s eyes widened, and she darted a look at Dobby. Whatever she saw on his face must have reassured her, for she relaxed and nodded. “Yes,” she said, then raised her voice. “Tilly, Bunko, Lotto! Come here!”

Three Elves separated themselves from the throng and shuffled over, looking nervous.

“This girl has clothes for you,” Zaza told them. “Does you still want to be free?”

“Yes, Zaza,” they chorused, and Ginny hid a grin. It was obvious who was in charge here.

“OK,” Ginny said. “Tilly, is it? Here’s a jumper for you…” As she handed out the clothing, more Elves kept coming forward, until everyone was wearing one of her garments. When she ran out, there were still several Elves standing there, looking disappointed.

“I can get some more from my Housemates,” said Ginny. “Just tell me how much I need.”

“I will have a list for you tomorrow,” Zaza promised. “And miss…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” The Elf met her eyes squarely, face serious. “I has had bad thoughts about wizards lately, but you and Professor McGonagall is good ones.”

Ginny nodded, grasping the tiny hand offered to her. “Thank _you_ ,” she said sincerely. “That means a lot to me.”

“And now you must be going,” Zaza said firmly.

“Yes, I must,” answered Ginny, stifling a laugh. “Thanks for everything. Bye, Dobby!” As she turned to leave, bare feet slipping slightly in her boots, she wondered what Hermione would have to say about this turn of events. _How fitting,_ she thought, _that it was the Dark Arts and another House Elf that convinced them after all._

 


	11. The Price of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Neville get detention.  
> Trigger Warnings: Torture, blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've moved the Quidditch section to the beginning of this chapter.

It was midway through the second week of term when an unfamiliar owl landed in front of Ginny at breakfast, bearing a letter with the Hogwarts crest on it. She took it nervously, sure that this was some new ploy of Snape’s or the Carrows’, and opened it with her wand rather than her hands. When nothing exploded or squirted poison at her, she cautiously shook the contents onto the table. A red and gold badge dropped in front of her, rattling against her plate.

 _Please, not a prefect badge,_ she thought in panic, and flipped it over. The familiar lion stared up at her, imposed over a broomstick, the word “Captain” emblazoned across the top. _Captain. They’ve made me captain of the Quidditch team?_

 “Blimey,” said Seamus, from across the table. “Will you look at that? Ginny’s got Quidditch Captain!”

 Everyone else was looking at her, and she could feel herself flushing. “It might be a mistake,” she said, just in case, and looked at the letter inside the envelope.

 

            _Dear Miss Weasley,_

_I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain this year. My apologies for the delay; major changes in our administration, staff, and student population have unfortunately caused a few hiccoughs in our normal procedure._

_I suggest you begin your training season immediately._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

“Well?” demanded Colin.

Ginny looked up to see them all watching her. Her face was still hot, but she didn’t bother to suppress the smile forming on her lips as she realized what this meant. She’d been so focused on everything else that she’d almost forgotten about Quidditch. Now, it felt like she’d just been handed a lifeline. “I’m captain.”

“Yeah!” Seamus grinned, leaning dangerously close to a platter of bacon in order to give her a high-five. “Way to go, Captain Ginny!”

“Put it on,” said Colin enthusiastically. “Let’s see!”

The commotion drew the attention of other Gryffindors, and Ginny found herself at the center of a congratulatory crowd. Ginny couldn’t help smiling as she pinned the badge to her robes, and, when she was sure no one was watching, couldn’t quite help running her fingers over the cool metal, remembering who had worn it last.

***

It was turning out to be an eventful day. Her class schedule was such that she didn’t have time to return to the dormitory during the morning, so her first hint that Dobby had followed through on his promise came at lunch. A group of Hufflepuffs stood by the doorway to the Great Hall as she came in, all staring intently at what Ginny, at first glance, assumed to be some sort of magazine. It was only as she heard one of them say, “That’s true, I’d forgotten about Merlin and that Muggle king,” that she realized what it was they were reading.

It was hard to keep a smile from her face as she headed toward the Gryffindor table.

***

            By the next day, the pamphlets seemed to be everywhere. Ginny could hear it being debated in the halls, discussed at meals, and whispered about in the classrooms. They were passed from hand to hand, transfigured and copied and quoted, spreading across the castle as though blown there by a particularly sentient wind. She saw copies of it lying in the courtyards, propped up on tables, pinned to bulletin boards, and stacked in the Owlery. Someone had even attached the front page of it to Alecto Carrow’s office door with a Permanent Sticking Charm.

When the Carrows banned the pamphlet, it only ensured that anyone who hadn’t bothered to read it before became curious enough to find a copy. And as they had under Umbridge, the students became quite adept at disguising the pamphlets from the Carrows’ random searches. Ginny had to work hard to contain her amusement as she watched Alecto’s growing frustration as student after student slipped through her fingers. It was less amusing when she was hauled into Snape’s office again.

“Miss Weasley.” His black eyes gave away nothing, though his lip curled slightly the way it always did when he looked at any of her family—as though being a Weasley was catching.

 “Sir.” It was getting easier to keep her face and voice blank, her hands hanging loose at her sides. She stared straight ahead, not making eye-contact, ignoring the presence of the Carrows, who flanked her.

He picked up something on his desk, holding it with two fingers as though it were contaminated, and she realized it was the pamphlet. “Professor Carrow tells me that you are responsible for distributing this… _pamphlet._ ”

 “What pamphlet, sir?”

He tossed it to her, and she caught it easily, flipping it open to a random page. She made a show of scanning the contents, then looked up at him. “Is this the thing that just got banned?”

 “Precisely.”

“Oh.” She glanced at it again, hoping she now looked mildly curious. “I was wondering what that was about.”

 “You deny being the author?”

Ginny contrived to look surprised. “Of course I’m not the author. I wouldn’t even know how to make something like this.”

“She’s lying!” Alecto burst out. “We all know she goes around with that Mudblood scum—”

 “And of course, I’m the only person at Hogwarts with friends who aren’t purebloods,” retorted Ginny.

 Snape gave them both a quelling look. “Weasley, do you know who might be responsible for this?”

Something touched her mind, ever so gently, and she realized what he was doing. “No, sir,” she said, concentrating on Celestina Warbeck. “I didn’t even get a good look at it until just now.”

 “Hmm.”

“It was her, Severus,” Alecto insisted. “I know it was.”

 “And what proof do you have?” he inquired mildly.

 Ginny fought the urge to gape at him. What was he playing at? Why did he care if they had proof? Surely it made no difference to him if she was punished or not.

 “Who else’d do summat like this?” growled Amycus.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “The pamphlet was distributed in all four Houses at almost exactly the same time,” he said. “Do you have the faintest inkling of how it was done?”

“Ask _her_!” shouted Alecto. “She knows, she does!”  
“Miss Weasley?”

“I don’t know the passwords to any of the other Common Rooms,” said Ginny truthfully. “I don’t even know where the entrance to Slytherin _is._ Actually, I don’t know where Hufflepuff is, either. And I don’t see how I could possibly go traipsing around the castle dropping off pamphlets without anyone seeing me.”

“You ‘ad ‘elp,” Alecto accused. “Some of your nasty little friends…”

“In Slytherin?” laughed Ginny. “Are you joking?”

This seemed to stump the Carrows, at any rate. Snape sighed and waved his hand languidly. “That seems to be all, then, Weasley. Off you go.”

She managed to wait until she was in the corridor before breaking into a run, and didn’t stop until she was nearly to the Charms classroom. There, she leaned against a wall and heaved a sigh of relief. Once again, she had managed to get through an interview with Snape, apparently without giving away anything of value. _I’ve been lucky so far,_ she thought as she entered the class. _But how long can my luck possibly hold?_

 

***

The Carrows still blamed her for the pamphlet, as Ginny realized when she received detention for “coughing insolently” in Amycus’s class. She would have been perfectly happy to cough insolently at Amycus—or either of the Carrows—but on this occasion, she had simply gotten a dry throat. Nevertheless, she found herself walking toward the Dark Arts classroom at 2:00 on a Thursday afternoon, wondering what was going to happen to her next, and guessing that it wouldn’t be good.

To her surprise, she was soon joined by Neville, who looked her up and down with a grimace. “You’ve got detention, too?”

“Yeah. Apparently I have an insolent cough. What did you do?”

“We were practicing a spell that inflicts burns on someone.” He shook his sleeve back, revealing an angry red welt on his wrist. “I decided I didn’t want to do permanent damage to a couple of Third Years.”

She sucked in a breath. “Third Years?”

“Yeah.” Neville’s round face was grim. “They’d gotten detention…”

Ginny’s feeling of apprehension intensified. “Like we do.”

“Exactly.”

“Great. Just bloody great,” she muttered. “This is all I need—getting hexed by a bunch of Fourth Years.”

“At least they probably won’t do any Unforgiveable Curses,” Neville offered, though his tone was grim. “Moody—well, Crouch pretending to be Moody—said kids that age don’t have enough… will, or power, or whatever, to do them.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” said Ginny sarcastically. They were approaching the classroom now. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Right. Let’s get this over with.”

The Dark Arts classroom was on the Third Floor, but Amycus Carrow had managed to make the place look like a dungeon. The windows had been covered with dark shades, and torches provided the only light. There were also manacles hanging all along one wall. Ginny tried not to look at them as she entered. The Fourth Years hadn’t arrived yet, but Amycus was sitting at his desk, looking even more malevolent than usual.

“Ah, Weasley and Longbottom,” he sneered. “The Blood Traitors.”

Ginny felt Neville stiffen, and kicked his ankle. They were already in enough trouble as it was, without him trying to mouth off. “We’re here for our detention, sir,” she said, keeping her tone as emotionless as possible.

“So you are, girly.” Amycus gave a high-pitched giggle and advanced on them, wand pointed at Ginny’s chest. “Bet you’ll think twice before crossing us again, eh? Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to defend them filthy Mudbloods.”

“Sir, I’m in detention for coughing,” Ginny reminded him.

He was far too close now, his breath hot on her face, the point of his wand digging into her sternum. It was all she could do not to step back, but she was not about to show him how scared she was.

“Don’t play the fool with me, girly,” he snarled. “I know it was you as made that paper. I’m not stupid.”

Even with the obvious threat, she had to work to keep a straight face at that one. It was pretty clear at this point that the Carrows had only got as far as they had because of brute force and skilled allies. No one could accuse either of them of being overburdened with brains.

He must have taken her silence for submission, because he backed off slightly, glaring at both students. “Alright,” he said. “Against the wall, both of you.”

Ginny and Neville exchanged trepidatious glances, knowing they had no choice but to obey. When they stood against the wall, Amycus waved his wand, causing the manacles to clasp around their wrists and ankles. Ginny couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath as the cold metal cuffs cut into her skin.

At that moment, the door opened again, and a group of Hufflepuff Fourth Years entered. They stopped when they saw Neville and Ginny, mouths opening in shock.

“Come in then, come on,” jeered Amycus. “You little buggers are too squeamish. We’re doing something fun today.”

“ _Ginny?_ ” said a familiar voice, and Ginny had to suppress a groan. Dennis Creevey was standing in the doorway, a look of utter horror on his face. “Ginny,” he said frantically, running forward, “Neville, what happened? What are you--?”

“It’s okay, Dennis,” she said quickly. “We’re just here for detention, that’s all.”

“Deten—” His eyes widened, and he swung around to face Amycus, who was watching the scene with a malicious grin. “You evil bastard! You let them go—”

“Dennis, no!”

“—this minute!”

The boy pulled out his wand, his entire body quivering with anger. He shouted something, but Amycus was quicker off the mark.

“ _Stupify_!”

A blast of red light burst from the end of his wand, and Dennis crumpled to the floor.

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then Amycus cackled, and levitated the unconscious Dennis toward the wall, where the chains quickly bound him, too. The professor clapped his hands together. “Well, kiddies, it looks like we have three for you to practice on! What a treat, eh?”

Ginny was shaking with anger and shock. It took all her self-control to keep from cursing or screaming, but she knew it would only make things worse. Her wand was in the pocket of her robes, but it might as well be on the moon for all the good it did. The Fourth Year students, a mixture of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, were clearly terrified.

It dawned on her, then, that no one would be coming to her rescue. She had known it before, of course, but at that moment the reality of what she was facing seemed to hit her more fully than it had before. At this moment, Carrow was in full control. He could do whatever he wanted to them, and they would be unable to fight back. No one—not McGonagall, not her parents, and certainly not Harry—could help her now.

 _OK,_ she thought. _Then I’ll just have to tough it out. I’ll bear it, and get my revenge when I can. What a_ very _Slytherin way of thinking that is._ But that was it, she realized. Fighting the Gryffindor way—head on, boldly, throwing caution to the winds—was not going to work in this situation. They were going to have to be clever and cautious and sneaky, and if that meant enduring this detention in silence, then so be it.

“I’ve got a new spell for you today, kiddies,” Amycus was saying. “It’s called _Sectumsempra._ ”

Ginny’s skin turned cold. That was the spell Snape had used to remove George’s ear—the spell that Harry had nearly killed Malfoy with last year. She had expected this to hurt, but Merlin, was Amycus really going to let the three of them bleed to death?

Through the buzzing in her ears, she could hear the Death Eater telling the students how to perform the curse. A movement to her right attracted her attention, and she saw that Dennis was awake and struggling against his bonds.

“Just hold still,” she whispered, letting her long hair fall in front of her face to cover her movements. “If you struggle, he’ll just make it worse for you.”

“But—”

“Now is not the time for Gryffindor heroics,” she hissed. “If you try to fight him now, he’ll probably cut your throat.”

“Everyone got it?” said Amycus.

Ginny turned her head to face forward again, and saw three students standing in front of the others, wands out. Two girls and a boy, whose expressions ranged from nervous to downright terrified. She couldn’t blame them.

“On the count of three.”

Her eyes met those of the girl standing opposite her—skinny and pale, her lank brown hair sporting a single streak of purple. She wore a metal band across her upper teeth, and Ginny realized that she must be Muggle-born—Hermione had mentioned the things once, calling them… what had she called them? Bracies? The girl’s brown eyes were wide and scared, like a cornered rabbit. Ginny gave her an encouraging smile, trying to speak without words.

_It’s not your fault. It’s going to be okay._

“Two.”

The girl raised a trembling wand, still watching Ginny’s face. Ginny gave her a little nod, and the girl nodded back, her face white and set.

“Three.”

“ _Sectumsempra!”_

Ginny jerked as the spell hit her, but the agony she was expecting failed to materialize. The pain in her arm felt more like a paper cut. She glanced sideways at her companions, and saw mingled surprise and relief mirrored in their faces. Apparently the Fourth Years either weren’t trying, or weren’t skilled enough to do any real damage yet.

Predictably, Amycus was unsatisfied with the results, and made the unfortunate students try the spell several times before huffing in frustration and calling up another trio. This time, the student facing Ginny was a heavy-set boy with curly hair and dark brown skin, who she thought she recognized as a Hufflepuff. He met her eyes immediately, and gave her a small smile before shouting the spell with all his might.

The curse missed her completely, though it was strong enough to actually knock some plaster from the wall next to her head. Ginny stared at him in confusion, and he winked at her before taking aim, and missing, again. Carrow seemed to think he was genuinely trying to hurt her, and even slapped him on the back as he returned to the back of the line.

 _There’s another one that could have made Slytherin,_ Ginny thought admiringly. _Wonder if he’d join the D.A?_

None of the students seemed able to inflict more than tiny cuts on Ginny and her friends, and she wondered whether they were doing it on purpose. Amycus grew incensed, bellowing at the Fourth Years and finally shoving one of them out of the way as he strode to the front.

“I’ll show you how it’s done!” he screeched.

Ginny felt herself go cold. This was it. This was what she’d been dreading. She braced herself as the Death Eater stalked closer, but it was Dennis he went for, not her.

“ _Sectumsempra!”_

Dennis screamed once, shrilly, then fell eerily silent. There was blood on his robes, but Ginny couldn’t tell how bad the wound was. All she could see was that his eyes were huge, and he was clenching his jaw so hard that his cheeks went hollow. _He’s trying to be brave_ , she thought. _Carrow’s going to kill him, and he’s trying to be brave._

Neville was shouting, and students were crying, and all Ginny could think of was that Dennis Creevey could very well die because he had tried to defend them. _Merlin, don’t let him die, don’t let him die, Colin was right, this is all my fault, all my…_

“Branstone, come have a go!” Amycus cackled, prodding a fair-haired Hufflepuff girl forward. “Let’s see how filthy the Mudblood’s blood is!”

“No!” shouted Ginny. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dennis’s feet slide out from under him. He was now held up only by the shackles binding his wrists. “Please, you can have a go at me! Just… don’t hurt him anymore.”

Amycus turned to face her. The look on his face made her want to wash her eyes out with soap. “Oh, you want a taste, dearie?” he said. “That can be arranged. Branstone!”

“Yes, sir?” The girl looked like she might be sick.

“Practice on Creevey, there. Weasley’s volunteered to demonstrate.”

He leaned closer into her, leering. “Anything for you, girly.”

She tried to suppress a shudder at the nearness of his foul face, focusing instead on keeping her chin up, her feet braced. Beside her, Dennis’s breathing was fast and shallow, while Neville was struggling wildly against his chains. Amycus gave her another gloating look before casting the curse.

Instantly, a deep gash opened up, running across her upper arm and ribs, following the movement of his wand. Braced as she was for it, she couldn’t help uttering a gasp, falling back against the supporting wall. Hot blood trickled down her arm and abdomen, leaving little burning trails across her skin. The pain was so intense that it was hard to breath. She wanted to curl up into it, press her hands against the wounds, but she couldn’t move.

 _I’m going to die,_ she thought, staring out at the crowd of horrified students. _I’m bloody going to die. Colin’s going to kill me. Well, alright, he’ll have to dig me up first, but then he’ll kill me._

Her senses seemed dull, everything drowned out by the pain coursing through her. She was almost glad for the weak curses of the students now, as the tiny cuts opening on her arms and legs gave her some distraction from the gash across her ribs. Her feet didn’t seem to want to support her, so she pushed them against the floor, hoping the friction would keep her upright. She might be dying of blood loss, but she wasn’t going to give Carrow the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

The ringing in her ears was getting louder and louder, and her vision was starting to seem foggy and dim. Her fingers and feet were cold. Had they been that cold a minute ago?

Neville was yelling again; Amycus was shouting too, and now a woman’s voice was speaking in sharp, clipped tones. Her hands were released from the manacles. She fell forward, but someone caught her and laid her gently on the floor. Madam Pomfrey’s anxious face came into view, singing an incantation over and over. Ginny felt a strange burst of heat across her chest, followed by itchiness; then the pain eased, and she could suddenly think clearly again.

“Dennis,” she said hoarsely, trying to sit up. “You’ve got to help Dennis, he’s worse than I am—”

“Lie down, Miss Weasley,” said Madam Pomfrey sharply. “You will do yourself further injury. Mr. Creevey has been attended to.”

Ginny clutched at her robes, still panicking. “Is he—will he—”

“He will recover,” she answered in a gentler tone. “Please lie still, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny nodded, then stiffened again. “Neville?”

“I’m right here, Gin.” Neville’s face came into view as he knelt stiffly beside her. His arm was bloody, but other than that he seemed okay. “You and Dennis took the worst of it.”

“You… you’re okay?” Merlin, she sounded pitiful.

“I’m okay,” he confirmed.

“Enough talking,” Madam Pomfrey cut in. “All of you need to come up to the Hospital Wing with me. Minerva, if you’d be so kind…”

So McGonagall was here, too. One of the Fourth Years must have fetched her. Ginny only hoped that whoever had done it wouldn’t get into further trouble with the Carrows. She felt herself being Levitated onto a stretcher, then floating down the corridors, with Neville walking alongside. She must have passed out at some point, because she didn’t remember reaching the Hospital Wing.

***

Ginny woke up to a sour taste in her mouth, the smell of citrus, and Luna’s voice saying, “… and I always add a bit of elderberry for the excessive drooling.”

“I shall have to try that,” said Madam Pomfrey thoughtfully. “I usually just use Thompson’s Headache Remedy instead, because it has fewer side effects.”

“Compulsive tap-dancing…”  
“Oh, but only one in a thousand cases have _that_ side effect—I don’t think I’ve ever seen it at Hogwarts…”

“I must be one in a thousand, then,” Luna answered, “because I _always_ get that side effect.”

“I should say you’re one in a million, Luna,” Neville’s voice put in warmly.

Ginny smiled slightly.

“Oh, look, Ginny’s awake,” said Luna immediately. “How are you feeling, Ginny?”

She opened her eyes, and saw Luna leaning over her, Neville not far behind. The lamps in the infirmary had been lit; it must be getting dark outside. “I’m fine,” she said, not altogether truthfully. She felt weak and achy, as though she’d recently taken a Bludger to the chest.

“You don’t look fine,” Neville said doubtfully.

“Of course she doesn’t,” snapped Madam Pomfrey. “She nearly died. Now move aside, Mr. Longbottom, Miss Lovegood. I need to give her more Blood Replenishing Potion.”

Ginny looked at the bottle with dread, remembering the slimy texture and unpleasant metallic taste from previous encounters with it. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, Miss Weasley. Now open up.”

Ginny opened her mouth obediently. The potion was just as gross as she remembered, but Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to hand her a glass of Pumpkin Juice with which to wash it down.

“How’s Dennis?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a hand that only trembled a little.

There was a pause, and the others exchanged looks. Her heart suddenly began to pound painfully fast. “He’s not—he didn’t…”

“He’s alive,” said Madam Pomfrey quickly. “It’s just that he… well, he lost a lot of blood.”

“He was unconscious when Madam Pomfrey got there,” Neville added. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”

Ginny looked up at their grim faces, frowning. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Madam Pomfrey sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. “When someone loses that much blood, there can be… complications. Organ failure. Brain damage. I’ve done diagnostic spells and given him Blood Replenishing Potion, but… we won’t really know what the damage is until he wakes up.”

“Or whether it’s permanent,” Luna added.

Ginny looked back and forth between them, and saw her own worry and grief etched on their faces. “Oh, Merlin,” she whispered, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. “This is all my fault.”

“No,” said Neville quickly, sitting beside her and grabbing her hand. “No, Ginny, it’s not. He made a choice. He was being brave, and stupid, and neither of us asked him to stand up to Carrow. In fact, you told him not to. It’s horrible, and I really hope he’ll pull through, but… this isn’t your fault, or mine. It’s Carrow’s. None of us asked to get tortured by a mad Death Eater, Gin.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “What about you, Nev? Are you okay?”

A slight grimace crossed his face, but he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m fine. The worst I got was a gash on my arm, and Madam Pomfrey mended it in a minute. You two took the brunt of it, I’m afraid.”

He looked truly downcast at this, as though it was his fault that he hadn’t received the same amount of damage.

“Now don’t you go feeling guilty, after lecturing me about it,” said Ginny. She leaned back on her pillows, already worn out again. “The Muggle-born and the Blood Traitor… he was bound to pick on us.”

“I’m a Blood Traitor too,” Neville protested.

“Yeah, but you’re not Harry Potter’s ex. It’s amazing what that’ll do for your reputation…” Her eyelids were growing heavy, and she could feel sleep creeping up on her, like a hunter stalking its prey. “Is Colin here?” she asked, making an effort to stay awake. “Does he know?”

“Yes,” said Luna. “We put Silencing Charms up so we wouldn’t disturb him.”

“Tha’s good,” Ginny murmured. “Tell ‘im I said…” Before she could finish her sentence, she was asleep.

Neville looked at Madam Pomfrey. “Is that normal?”

“I usually combine my Blood Replenishing Potions with a minor Sleeping Draught,” she said. “The body heals quicker if the patient isn’t trying to exert themselves.”

“Yes, Ginny’s always been one for over-exerting herself,” Luna agreed. She glanced at Neville. “Well, we’d better go keep Colin company.”

“He sent us away, before,” he pointed out. “I don’t really want to get hexed again.”

“We’re his friends,” she said simply. “He needs us. Come on.”

A little shamefaced, he followed her to the curtains enclosing Dennis’s bed, leaving Ginny to sleep.


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna, Neville, Colin, and Seamus cause some mischief. Ginny struggles with Occlumency.

Madam Pomfrey kicked the visitors out of the Infirmary a little before curfew. Colin, Luna, and Neville wandered toward Gryffindor Tower, each occupied with their own thoughts. It wasn’t until they’d entered the Common Room that the boys realized Luna was still with them.

“Shouldn’t you be going back to Ravenclaw, Luna?” asked Colin.

She favored him with a serene smile. “No, I wanted to talk to you. We should go up to Neville’s dormitory.”

Colin stared at her, but Neville just sighed. “OK. Come on, you two.”

They mounted the stairs slowly. Neville wondered when he’d last been this tired. He hadn’t gotten hurt badly, but the healing process had taken a lot out of him, and he’d been too worried about his friends to take a nap while in the infirmary.

He opened the door to see Seamus sitting on his bed, staring glumly at a much-creased piece of paper on the counterpane.   _Dean’s last letter,_ Neville guessed. He’d been brooding over it ever since they got back to school. He cleared his throat, and Seamus jumped, then relaxed.

“Oh, it’s you.” He noticed Luna behind him, and frowned. “Do I need to give you two some privacy?”

“What?” A blush spread across Neville’s face as he caught his meaning. “Oh! No, no, you’re fine. We just needed someplace to talk.” He entered as he spoke, and sat down on his bed. Luna perched next to him, while Colin sprawled on the floor.

“It’s fine if you want to stay,” Luna echoed, smiling at Seamus. “In fact, you might be useful.”

Seamus looked wary. “I don’t know as I like the sound of that.”

“Me neither,” said Neville. “What’s going on, Luna?”

“I have a plan,” she said, with an unusually mischievous smile. “Something for the D.A.”

“Our last plan landed Dennis and Ginny in the Hospital Wing,” Colin pointed out. His face was drawn; he looked far older than sixteen, despite his diminutive size.

“Exactly.” Luna leaned against the bedpost, wrapping one arm around it. “We need to take some of the pressure off them. See, right now everyone thinks it’s Ginny doing this stuff. But if we do something while they’re in the Hospital Wing, then it’ll be obvious it wasn’t them. “

The others looked at each other. It made sense. But this instance of logic from Luna only made Neville more nervous about how outrageous her proposal would be.

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

Luna explained her idea, in enough detail to make it clear that this was something she’d been thinking about for awhile.

“You sneaky little bugger!” Seamus exclaimed. His face broke into a broad grin, and for a moment he looked more like his old self than he had since Dean disappeared. “Well, you’re not doing it without me, that’s for sure.”

Luna nodded, looking at the others for approval.

Neville mulled it over for a moment. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I think this’ll work.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” demanded Colin. His face burned with an angry determination that was alarmingly different from his normal puppy-dog enthusiasm. “Let’s do this.”

***

Madam Pomfrey declared Ginny well enough to resume her normal activities the next morning, providing she didn’t “get into anymore scrapes”. The matron was in good spirits; Dennis had woken up during the night, and would make a full recovery.

“Once I’ve repaired the damage to his extremities and restored proper blood flow to his liver, he’ll be just fine,” she told Ginny.

“That’s great, Madam Pomfrey. Does Colin know?”

“He stopped in earlier, before you woke up.”

“Oh, good.” Ginny finished fastening the clean robes that someone had fetched for her from Gryffindor Tower, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Her muscles still ached, and she was a bit tired, but other than that the ordeal had left her relatively unharmed. “I’d better go, if I want to catch breakfast. Thanks for everything, Madam Pomfrey.”

“You’re welcome, dear. And do _try_ to keep from getting injured again for a few days, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Ginny assured her, and left the Hospital Wing, feeling far more cheerful than she ought to. _Probably the endorphins kicking in,_ she thought. _I’m pretty sure I’ve heard something about euphoria following near-death experiences…._ Halfway down the stairs to the Entrance Hall, she stopped dead, staring.

Someone had painted a message over the entrance to the Great Hall, in bright purple letters several feet high. _THE CHOSEN ONE WAS HERE._

For a moment, her heart leapt with heady delight—then reality returned. This wasn’t anything to do with Harry. For one thing, he hated being called “The Chosen One”.  For another, if he’d broken into Hogwarts, he wouldn’t have bothered with something like this. _There’d probably be a lot more blood and chaos, too,_ she thought with a smirk. Slowly, she began walking again, thinking hard. What was the point of this? Why would someone write that?

 _It’s a statement,_ she realized. _Support for Harry, saying that Snape isn’t as in control as he thinks… and of course, it’s a pretty big fuck-you to the Carrows. And, coincidentally, it happened while I was in the Hospital Wing, so there’s no way they can blame me. I wonder if that was the intention…?_

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. At the Gryffindor table, the conspiratorial grins on Seamus, Colin, and Neville’s faces told her all she needed to know.

“Glad to see you’ve kept busy while I was out,” she muttered to Neville as she sat down.

“Luna’s idea,” he whispered back, then, in a normal tone, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. A little tired.” She shrugged, helping herself to sausages. “Seamus, do wipe that grin off your face. You look like the cat who ate the canary.”

“Just glad to see you’re alright, love,” said Seamus, with a winning smile. “Pumpkin Juice?”

“Tea,” she said tartly. “Black.”

As Seamus busied himself with the teapot, she turned to Colin, laying a hand on his arm. “Madam Pomfrey said you’d been to see Dennis this morning?”

He nodded, relief palpable on his face. “He’s going to be fine.”

“That’s great, Colin.” She hesitated. “I owe you an apology.”

“No.” Colin met her eyes squarely, his chin thrust forward in his familiar gesture of stubbornness. “They told me what happened— Nev and Nigel,” he added, seeing her look of confusion. “And it wasn’t your fault. Dennis picked a fight, and Carrow’s a bully.” There was pride in his face as he smiled. “He’s definitely a Gryffindor.”

Ginny took this to mean Dennis, not Carrow. “He is,” she agreed warmly. “He was really brave. But bravery won’t be enough for this, Colin. We have to be smart.”

“We’re doing our best,” Seamus cut in. He leaned forward, and Ginny automatically cast a _Muffliato_ on their nearest neighbors. “Wait ‘til you see what happens when they try to remove it.”

“Have you been talking to my brothers?” she demanded.

Neville grinned. “Let’s just say that Luna has more in common with the twins than we thought.”

 

When Ginny left the Great Hall, Filch was on a ladder scrubbing at the words with Mrs. Scour’s Magical Mess Remover. As she watched, the words flickered and changed: HOGWARTS UNITE! STUDENTS AGAINST VOLDEMORT.

Grinning, she hurried off to Herbology.

***

_In the art of Occlumency, the most important thing is not to let your opponent know you’re using it. If you simply block the Legilimens, they will know you have something to hide. Even if they cannot penetrate your mind, they may progress to other methods, such as Veritaserum. An experienced Occlumens lets the Legilimens in, but only shows them what the Occlumens wants them to see._

_In order to build a successful barrier…_

Ginny laid the book down, rubbing her eyes. It was Friday evening, and the last thing she wanted to do was pore over this book looking for a solution that was looking less and less likely to appear. She didn’t have time to learn all the tricks of Occlumency, not when Snape could make another attempt tomorrow. She didn’t have a clue how to build up the kind of mental maze that would keep him out, and she certainly couldn’t make a barrier strong enough to prevent him breaking through.

 _And the book is right,_ she thought. _I already know that if he can’t read my mind, he’ll just force Veritaserum on me. Or the Cruciatus. There has to be some other way…_

Chin in hand, she stared into the Gryffindor fire, wishing that inspiration would strike. Instead, a feeling of heat in her pocket made her pull out a fake Galleon, tapping it twice with her finger to view the message.

_outside g towr let in L_

Ginny grinned. They were still working out the bugs in her Protean Charm, but the fact that Luna had been able to send her a message via the Galleon was a very good sign. They had wanted to allow members to communicate privately and as a group, which had involved a number of modifications. She opened the Portrait Hole to find Luna deep in conversation with the Fat Lady.

“Well, of course I suppose it’s somewhat like a wormhole, but with paint. I wonder if you could travel back in time to an older portrait?”

“My dear, I hardly think that’s likely.”

“No, but it’s not necessarily impossible.” Luna turned to Ginny, as though noticing her for the first time. “Oh, Ginny. You got my message.”

“Yes, I did. Are you coming in, or do you want to talk to the—er—Lady all night?”

“Oh, Ermingarde and I can finish our discussion some other time, can’t we?” said Luna, directing the last part of her question toward the Fat Lady.

“Oh, any time, dear.”

“Great,” Ginny said. “Come on, Luna.” She waited until the portrait had swung shut before turning to her. “How did you know her name is Ermingarde?”

“I asked.” She frowned. “Isn’t that the normal thing to do?”

“I didn’t know she had a name! Everyone just calls her the Fat Lady.”

“That seems rather rude, don’t you think? I mean, you wouldn’t want everyone to just call you the Thin Girl, or the Red-haired Girl all the time.”

Ginny shrugged. “Better than 'Blood-Traitor Bitch'. Anyway, Luna, I need your help with something.”

“I always like helping you.” Luna followed Ginny over to the fireplace, sinking into one of the cushy chairs there with palpable contentment. “Is this about the Protean Charm?”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Ginny flopped into the other chair, and withdrew the Galleon again. “I forgot to check if it erases.” Luna’s message was still etched around the rim of the coin. Ginny rubbed her thumb along the edge, and was satisfied when a random collection of serial numbers replaced the writing. “I think we might have it, Luna.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Occlumency.”

Casting a _Muffliato_ , she explained her problem. “I’ve been trying to figure out some sort of alternative to a barrier, but I can’t think of anything that would help.”

“You got him out of your mind before, didn’t you?” asked Luna.

“Yeah, but at some point he’s going to make the effort to get through Celestina Warbeck, and then I’ll be defenseless.”

“Hmm…” Luna leaned back in her chair, gazing absently at the ceiling. “What precisely did he say about your mind, again?”

“He said it was… muddled. No, chaotic, that was it. He said my mind was more chaotic than he expected.”

“I wonder if you can use that?”

“Use what?”

Luna leaned forward. “You don’t need to bother with mazes or barriers if your mind’s a madhouse. Not just Celestina Warbeck, but… I don’t know, awful colors, odd sounds, maybe… flashes of things, like dragons and hippogriffs and Gulping Plimpies. If you just sort of… embrace chaos, then it might be too uncomfortable for him to sift through to anything useful.”

“He’ll think I’m mad.” Her mouth curved into an answering smile. “Luna, you’re brilliant.”

The other girl hugged her knees to her chest, her face glowing as it always did when anyone complimented her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ginny remembered belatedly that Luna might have had another reason for seeking her out. “So now that’s taken care of, did you want my help with something? Or did you just show up to chat?”

“I always like talking with you, Ginny,” said Luna. “But I did wonder if you wanted to work on non-verbal spells with me.”

“Sure.” Ginny closed the Occlumency book with a feeling of relief. “What do you want to try? Summoning?”

“That seems like as good a start as any.” Luna pulled a cushion from the chair nearest her and threw it a short distance. “Let’s see…”


	13. Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch Tryouts.

Ginny had decided to hold Quidditch trials on Saturday morning. Accordingly, she got up at nine, collected her (well, Ron’s, but he wasn’t going to miss it) broom, and headed down to the Great Hall. The legend above the doorway now read DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY: STILL RECRUITING, despite the ladder and cleaning paraphernalia scattered nearby, indicating that Filch had not yet given up on erasing the graffiti.

“Sooner or later someone’ll try Vanishing it,” Seamus said. He and Ginny were nearly alone at the Gryffindor table, protected, as usual, by a _Muffliato_ charm. “I hope I’m there when they do.”

“Why, what happens?”

Seamus winked. “Let’s just say, it’ll be _very_ obvious.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t keep up with you lot. Are you coming to… you know… tonight?”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. “Want me to tell the others?”

Ginny thought about it. “I’ll get Ritchie,” she said. “But if you let one of the Hufflepuffs know—Ernie, Susan, or Hannah—they can fill in the rest. And tell them to bring any extra clothes they don’t want anymore—socks, hats, anything they can spare. I’m collecting it for the House Elves.”

“All right, Captain,” he said cheerfully, adding an indecent amount of ketchup to his sausages. “Same place as… before?”

“Exactly.”

“What if they find us?”

“They won’t,” she assured him. “Neville figured out how to work it better.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get down to the pitch, Seamus. I’ll see you later.”

His mouth was too full to reply, but he gave her a wave as she made her way out of the Great Hall.

It was an unseasonably mild day, overcast but not muddy. Ginny spent a little time walking the pitch before changing into her Quidditch robes. It was still early, but she felt she needed the time to adjust; it was a little strange to suddenly be the captain of a team she’d only played on for two years. _Longer than anyone else who’s still here,_ she reminded herself. _And I was basically captain in the game last year, when Harry was in detention. I just hope people show up!_

This line of thought wasn’t actually helpful. Ginny took a deep breath, and decided to fly laps to calm her nerves. On her second lap, she saw a group of familiar figures entering the pitch, and brought her broom around to land in front of Demelza Robins, Jimmy Peakes, and Ritchie Coote.

“Hi there, you lot,” she said as she landed. “Thanks for coming early.”

“We thought you might need a hand getting ready,” said Demelza.

Ritchie stuck his hands in the pockets of his robes, grinning broadly. “Besides, we wanted to check out the competition.”

Ginny nodded, smiling in return. Ritchie and Jimmy had both filled out over the summer, and they’d improved a lot since last year. She doubted any of the Beaters who showed up to tryouts would be able to replace them. “Alright,” she said aloud. “Get your kit on and we’ll see who shows up.”

“Demelza,” she added as the other two hurried away, “I thought the two of us could test out the Keepers, first. Then we’ll have someone for the tryout Chasers to play against.”

“OK.”

Demelza headed for the locker room, and Ginny followed.

In the end, only seven people showed up for the tryouts: two Keepers, four Chasers, and one Beater. No one seemed keen on the Seeker position, which worried Ginny. She could be Seeker if necessary, but she much preferred Chaser. Remembering the crowd that had showed up for tryouts last year, she sighed a little. Harry had been very irritated with all the idiots who showed up just because he was famous, but at least he’d had a broader selection. Between the decimation of the Houses due to the Muggle-born ban and her own ill-standing with the school administration, it wasn’t really a wonder that so few students had showed up, but still….

_No whinging,_ she told herself sternly. _Just get on with it._

The group, now swelled by the presence of Demelza, Ritchie, and Jimmy, looked at her expectantly.

“Right,” she said, raising her voice. “We’re going to try out Keepers first. Demelza and I 'ill try to score on you. Whoever gets the most saves out of five shots gets the position. All clear?”

The two prospective Keepers nodded. She knew the boy, Will Carmichael—he was in her year, and tended to overconfidence, in her opinion. The girl, though clearly around her own age, was unknown to her; she was tall and muscular, with a broad face and long black hair. Ginny had noticed her in Gryffindor Tower a few times within the past week, but could have sworn that she’d never seen her before this year.

“Alright, Carmichael, why don’t you start?”

Carmichael headed to the goalposts, and Ginny and Demelza rose in the air. Passing the Quaffle back and forth, they swooped toward him. Ginny faked an underarm throw, then passed it to Demelza as Carmichael committed. The other girl scored easily, taking possession again as Carmichael returned to the center hoop, scowling ferociously.

The next four passes were enough to make Ginny hope devoutly that the other candidate was better; Carmichael saved three shots, but his poor attitude when he was scored on seemed likely to be a problem.

“You’re up,” said Ginny to the unknown girl when they returned to land. “What’s your name?”

“Ji-a Im.”

“OK, Im, same routine as with Carmichael.” She remounted her broom and kicked off, waiting for Ji-a to get into position before passing the Quaffle to Demelza.

Ji-a saved four out of five shots, missing the last one only by the tips of her fingers. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she flew over to her.

“If you want the position, Im, you’re in.”

“Brilliant.” Ji-a said, flashing a wide smile. To Ginny’s mild surprise, she spoke with a strong Scouse accent. “What was that last move ye did, where ye dropped the Quaffle to the other girl? It’s something I’d not seen before.”

“It’s called a Porskoff Ploy,” said Ginny. “Demelza and I were working on it last year. It probably wasn’t fair to throw that at you today, but I really wanted to see how it would work.”

“Nah, it was a bloody good play.”

Ginny smiled at her. “I’m glad you thought so. I’m going to bring the Chasers up, but we’re going to try some formations before we try to score on you, so if you need a drink or anything…”

“Right, I’m on it.” Ji-a sped toward the ground, pulling up neatly just before she hit. Ginny called the Chasers forward.

The first two, a Third Year and a Fifth Year, were all right. The third was Dennis Creevey, who, though not the best flyer, more than made up for it with his excellent ball skills. His passes were close to perfect, and he made several good shots on goal, which Ji-a had to reach to save.

“I didn’t know you played Quidditch, Dennis,” Ginny commented.

He grinned. “I don’t, really. But I’m quite good at basketball, even if I am a bit short for it. And I got a broom last summer, so I’ve been practicing a bit.”

“Well, it’s certainly paid off.” She turned to the last Chaser candidate, a small, skinny boy with short brown hair and a pale, nervous face. “What’s your name, then?”

“Rhys Llewellyn.” His voice was so quiet she could hardly hear him.

_Timid_ , she thought. _Probably too timid, but it doesn’t hurt to give him a try._ “What year are you, Rhys?” she asked aloud.

“Second.”

“OK. We’re going to fly in the same braid formation you saw the others doing, and try some passes, alright?”

A nod.

“Alright, then. Demelza?”

They took off again, with Rhys on point. Ginny passed in front of him, passing the Quaffle behind and dropping down. The boy caught it easily, but his pass to Demelza was weak, and she had to dive for it. When Demelza threw it hard to the side, he pelted forward, caught it, rolled, and passed it to Ginny using both hands. She caught it, looking at him critically. _Pretty fancy move for a Second Year. I wonder what other tricks he’s got up his sleeve?_

She began to push him, picking up the pace and forcing him to cut across, weave, and dive for the Quaffle. He did everything easily, his face alight with the kind of fierce concentration that Ginny herself felt in the midst of play. He caught every pass. Unfortunately, his throws usually went wide, short, or both.

“Llewellyn!” she called. “I want to try something different, OK?” She motioned to Jimmy and Ritchie, who flew up looking confused. “Peakes, Coote, I want you to block Llewellyn. Llewellyn, you’re going to try to catch up to Dem—Robins. Just try to touch her broomstick. Peakes and Coote will get in your way, and you’ve got to get around them. Everyone got it? Good. On my whistle.”

She blew the whistle, and the four went into action. Demelza used every trick she had, while Jimmy and Ritchie did their best to block the boy. But Rhys was clearly a natural. He dove, ducked, and rolled, avoiding the two Beaters so well that he made it look easy. Within a minute, he’d caught Demelza. They all stopped to look at her, and she realized she was grinning like a maniac. _He’s not a Chaser at all,_ she thought. _He’s a Seeker._

“Llewellyn, why didn’t you try out for Seeker?” she demanded.

He flushed, looking at his broom handle. “I didn’t think… I mean… that was _Harry Potter’s_ position.”

Finally, it clicked. _This_ was why nobody had tried out for Seeker. Nobody wanted to take on the role last played by the famous Harry Potter. _Damn him._ She tried to keep her face straight. “Those are big shoes to fill. I should know—I’ve done it three years in a row, now.”

“He was the youngest Seeker in a _century_ ,” he whispered, hero-worship in his eyes.

“Yeah, he was,” said Ginny, as gently as possible. “But we need a Seeker, and I really don’t want to have to do it myself. Again. I’m a Chaser, and you, Llewellyn, clearly have the flying ability, but you can’t throw worth a… that is, you’re throwing would need a lot of work if you were going to be a Chaser. But as a Seeker, I think you’ll do just fine.”

“You really think _I_ could be Seeker?” His cheeks were redder than ever, but his eyes, when he lifted them to her face, were shining like stars.

“I really do.” She clapped him on the back. “Welcome to the team, Llewellyn.”

 

After that, the rest was easy. Dennis became their new Chaser, Ritchie and Jimmy easily retook their positions as Beaters, and Ji-a was clearly going to be an excellent choice for Keeper. When she’d dismissed the rest of the candidates, Ginny took them to the locker room to try on uniforms.

“Hey Ginny, look at this!” called Demelza. She was rooting through a trunk that looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years.

When Ginny saw what she was holding up, her heart did an odd little flutter. The crimson Quidditch robes were small, too small even for Rhys; it was hard to believe that Harry had ever been that size. The gold POTTER emblazoned across the back left no room for doubt as to whose they had been, though. She took the robes from Demelza and held them up, trying to recall what eleven-year-old Harry had looked like.

She remembered him now: small and skinny, nearly swimming in baggy clothes several sizes too large, glasses taped in the middle where they’d been broken. It was hard to believe that she’d once looked at him with the same kind of hero-worship that she now saw in Rhys’s eyes.

“Earth to Ginny.” Ritchie waved a hand in front of her face. “Think those’ll do?”

“What? Oh. Oh yeah.” Ginny quickly looked away from the robes, face hot. “I was just… I thought they might be a bit stained, but they look all right. Com’ere, Rhys.”

The boy obeyed, trying on the too-short robes with a look of awe. Ginny muttered a few of the dressmaking charms Fleur had taught her before the wedding (“You cannot use zem ‘ere, of course,” she’d said, tossing her long blonde hair. “But zey will be very useful when you ‘ave to adjust your wardrobe at school.”), and soon had the robes the right length and width for their new Seeker.

“Turn around, and I’ll put your name on the back. Spell it for me?” As Rhys spelled his last name, she waved her wand, feeling a slight pang as the gold letters squirmed and took new shape.

“All done,” she told him. “Let me know if there’s anything you need. Im? Where’s Im? Im, have you got a uniform yet?”

Ji-a held up a set of robes that were clearly too large for her. “I think the last Keeper wore these, din’t they?”

“Yeah, but they’ll never fit you,” said Ginny. “Ron was a completely different shape from you. And take it from me, that’s a compliment.” There was some laughter at this. She continued, “I think you’re actually close to Angelina Johnson’s size. If we can find her stuff…”

It took awhile to get everyone kitted up; Jimmy and Ritchie had both grown enough that they needed new robes, too, and Ginny realized that all the Quidditch gear had been randomly stored in assorted trunks, with no organization as to size or anything else. The new team’s first bonding experience turned out to be sorting gear, which, according to the nature of these things, ended up with everyone trying on different pieces of obscure equipment, throwing things at each other, and shouting out random items discovered in unused corners of the locker room.

Amidst the confusion, Ginny got the chance to talk to Ji-a. “Hey Im, I was wondering. Are you from—”

Ji-a sighed. “I’m from Liverpool, yes, really, and if you must know, me parents are Korean. Alright?”

Ginny blinked. “Okay. I wasn’t actually going to ask you that, but…”

The other girl’s face went from resigned to confused to pleased in the space of a second. “Oh, good. I’ve had so many beauts asking me, I’ve started heading ‘em off in self-defense.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ginny, and meant it. She’d done something similar when people had started constantly asking her about Harry last year. “I wanted to know if you were from another school or something. I don’t think I’ve seen you at Hogwarts before, and I’m generally pretty good with faces.”

“Oh, no, I was homeschooled,” said Ji-a. “But after the Ministry went an’ said everyone has to go to Hogwarts, I din’t have much choice.”

“It must be hard for you, coming in now when everyone else has been here since First Year.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“What year are you?”

“Fifth.”

“You transferred in for OWL year?” Ginny shook her head. “Good luck with that.”

Ji-a grinned. “Oh, I’m not worried about _them_ ,” she said dismissively. “I’m way beyond what you poor devils’re studying. Me mum taught me non-verbals and Vanishing spells practically in the cradle. It’s only all these bloody essays what get me down.”

“If you’re so good with non-verbals, maybe you can help me with them,” said Ginny. “They’re a right pain in my arse at the moment.”

“Happy to.”

At that moment, they were both distracted by a Keeper’s glove flying through the air, narrowly missing Ginny’s head. The conversation ended in trying to discover the culprit and lay hands on missiles of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best with Ji-a's Liverpool accent, but I'm not sure I got it right. Feel free to correct me. My thought is that she's Korean-British, and, like a lot of children of immigrants, VERY tired of having people ask where she's "really from". 
> 
> Rhys Llewellyn is supposed to be a relation/descendant of Dai Llewellyn, a famous Quidditch player who is deceased at the time of the Order of the Pheonix. (The Dai Llewellyn Ward is named after him). And yes, he's Welsh, why do you ask? :)
> 
> The Porskoff Ploy is mentioned in The Goblet of Fire. From the Harry Potter Wiki: "The Porskoff Ploy is a Quidditch tactic named after Russian Chaser Petrova Porskoff. A Chaser flies straight upwards with the Quaffle in an attempt to make the opposing team's chasers follow him. Then, the Chaser with the Quaffle throws the ball directly down to a fellow Chaser below the opposing team's chasers. The move requires pinpoint timing on the part of the Chasers. Troy used the Porskoff Ploy against Ivanova during the 1994 Quidditch World Cup."
> 
> In case anyone's wondering about the juxtaposition of first and surnames, basically Ginny tends to think of everyone (except Carmichael, who she doesn't like) as their first names, but tries to use surnames on the Quidditch pitch because it's more captain-y. That rule will probably relax for Rhys, because Llewellyn just takes too bloody long to say.


	14. Dumbledore's Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny learns some useful spells from McGonagall. The D.A. has its first meeting.

With tryouts ended, Ginny had just time to get a bite of lunch before heading to McGonagall’s office, ostensibly to hand over the new team roster. This she did, then stayed for an hour to drink tea and discuss Quidditch and other, less innocent, matters.

“I want to teach you a few spells,” said McGonagall, putting down her empty teacup. Ginny noticed that it had a thistle pattern on it. “After the… incident… with the Carrows the other day, I feel you could use an edge.”

“Anything you’ve got,” said Ginny fervently. “I’m fighting a manticore with a toothpick, here.”

The professor gave her a sharp look. “If I thought it would do any good, Miss Weasley, I would tell you to leave the fighting to the adults, and keep to your studies.” The lines around her mouth softened into something like a smile. “But I don’t propose to waste my breath on deaf ears. I can hardly blame you—it’s what I would have done.”

A hard knot somewhere in Ginny’s chest seemed to loosen, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Thank you, Professor. It… means a lot that you—trust me, I guess.”

“I think you’ll find that a great many people trust you, Ginevra,” said McGonagall, with uncustomary gentleness.

“To keep secrets, yes,” she answered. “To look after myself, and take part in this… not so much.” She turned her cup in her hands, following the rim with her thumb. “They want me to still be a child,” she said quietly. “But being a child has never kept me safe, not since I was eleven. Why should it help now?”

McGonagall nodded, the sadness in her eyes so palpable that Ginny, much more comfortable with her sharp edges and brisk manner, had to look away. “I think… we all wish to believe that you—all of you—needn’t be involved in this. You see, we worked so hard to prevent this, to make a world where none of you would have to face violence…war. And yet, here it is.” She looked down at her desk, tracing the pattern in the wood with a fingertip. “I must confess that prior to this summer, I thought the same. I tried to—I asked Harry to confide in me.”

Ginny’s head jerked up in surprise. Her lips curved into a smirk. “How did _that_ go?”

“Not… as well as I might have hoped,” said McGonagall ruefully. “He had a plan already, whatever it was. I should have realized.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“Yes. Well, he’ll need to be.” McGonagall was silent for a moment, then seemed to shake herself. “Anyway. The spells. There are three that I thought might prove useful.” Her voice took on its normal brisk tone. “The first, _Nervorum Torpens_ , numbs the body’s pain receptors. It doesn’t heal or prevent injury, you understand: it merely makes you less sensitive to pain. We don’t normally teach it, because pain is there for a reason—it prevents you from doing yourself injury. But this spell is popular with the Aurors, as it… it helps you resist torture.” She bit her lip as she said the last part, and Ginny knew how much she hated to acknowledge what Ginny was likely to face, what she had been through already at the hands of the Death Eaters.

“Does it help with the Cruciatus?” she asked.

McGonagall’s face tightened. “It will not… entirely prevent the pain of the Cruciatus,” she said. “Partly because the Cruciatus is more mental than physical, and partly because it is so very strong if applied by the right—or wrong—wizard. But yes, it will help a little.”

“Right.” Ginny tried to look as though this were just a throw-away question, though they both knew otherwise. “What are the others?”

“The second is the Disillusionment Charm, which I know you’ve had performed on you. The incantation is _Imitamenta_ , followed by one of two wand movements. If you perform it on another, you rap that person on the head with your wand. If on yourself, you make a twirling movement, so.” McGonagall demonstrated, looking very much as though she were putting a cloak on using her wand. “It really only works if you can do it non-verbally.”

“The third spell,” she continued, “is a modified Shield Charm, which I invented some time ago. The incantation is _Protego Alo_.”

“What does it do?”

“You are, of course, familiar with the way an ordinary Shield Charm operates,” said McGonagall, taking on the tone of voice she used in class when she expected someone to answer a question.

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “It deflects minor spells—although, honestly, I’m pretty sure Harry’s stopped Unforgiveables with it, so I think it depends on the power of the caster.”

“Exactly right.” McGonagall gave her an approving smile, and Ginny half expected her to award points to Gryffindor. “This spell, however, does not deflect spells thrown at it—instead, it absorbs them. Casting against it only increases its potency.”

Ginny considered this. “Does the strength of the spell affect the strength of the shield?”

“Yes. The stronger the spell, the stronger the shield becomes.”

“Can it stop a Killing Curse?”

McGonagall paused before answering. “I have never had the… misfortune… to find out,” she said slowly. “I’ve used it against Death Eaters, of course, but I was not in a position to unequivocally judge its effectiveness against the Killing Curse at the time.” She stopped again, looking tired. “We are told that there is no spell which can defend against the Killing Curse, and it would be egotistical in the extreme to hope mine could succeed where so many others have failed.”

It felt ungrateful to be disappointed; McGonagall was doing her best, and it wasn’t her fault that it wasn’t enough. Ginny forced as much brightness into her tone as she could muster. “Still sounds bloo—very useful, Professor. Shall I give it a go?”

***

That evening, Ginny and Neville taking a circuitous route toward the Room of Requirement, both carrying their schoolbags so they could claim to be heading to either the library, the Owlery, or a homework session in Ravenclaw Tower if they got caught. Luck seemed to be with them, however, and they reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy without attracting any undue attention.

The Creevey brothers were waiting for them, one at either end of the corridor. Both were fidgeting with pent-up energy, and Colin practically vibrated as he talked to them. “Alright, Nev? Ginny? We’re watching either end of the hall, so we can alert you if anyone we don’t want shows up. I thought we could play lookout while Neville gets the room ready.  You’re sure the Carrows can’t get in?”

They’d gone over this several times, but Neville showed no sign of irritation. “Yes, Colin, I’m sure. I just have to tell it exactly who can or can’t come in—I tried it with Luna and Ginny yesterday, and with Seamus today—if I say I don’t want a particular person, it doesn’t let them in.”

“Well, yes, but we don’t know… I mean, the Carrows are specific, but we don’t know if they’ve got spies or anything—”

“I told it to exclude Ravenclaws, and it didn’t let Luna in, and it wouldn’t let Seamus in when I told it no Ballycastle Bats supporters,” said Neville. “I’ve got this.”

“Okay, okay, I was just making sure.” Colin bounced on his feet a couple times, then waved a hand. “Right, I’m going round the corner. I’ll send an alarm on my coin if there’s a problem.”

“Go on, then,” said Ginny, giving him a push, and he jogged off to take up his place. She turned to Neville, rolling her eyes. “I’d say he’s learning caution, but I think that’d be overly optimistic.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “Are you sure you want to stay out here?” 

“That’s the plan,” she said cheerfully. 

“It’s a bit of a risk…” 

“Neville, we’ve been over this. One of us needs to stay out here to tell people how to get in, and you’re supposed to be getting the room ready.” 

“All right, all right. You’re right.” He strode back and forth in front of the wall; the door appeared; and, with one last, slightly worried look at her, he disappeared inside. 

Ginny leaned against the opposite wall and sighed. She understood the need for caution as well as anybody, but it seemed to her that lately, Neville had been even more hesitant when it came to placing her in any sort of danger. Perhaps it was all in her head; perhaps it was just that their recent trip to the Hospital Wing had made everyone a bit more nervous; but if Neville was going to start coddling her, he was going to find himself on the wrong side of a Bat-Bogey Hex in short order.

The sound of hurrying footsteps pulled Ginny from her thoughts, and she turned to greet Luna, Padma and Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown.

 

There were over twenty students when they were all assembled: former members of the DA, including Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones, and Michael Corner; Muggle-borns or Mixed-bloods whom Ginny had helped, like Ritchie Coote and the Li sisters, Sue and Cathy; and a few faces she couldn’t put names to.

As she walked through the door behind Luna, she noticed the Hufflepuff boy who had deliberately missed her during Carrow’s Dark Arts class. He grinned when he caught her looking at him.

“Alright, Weasley? Owen Cauldwell. Nice to see you without all the blood.”

Ginny took his hand, noting the strength of his grip. “Cheers, Cauldwell. Thanks for missing me with that curse. It was good thinking.”

“Maybe I’ve just got terribly bad aim. We Hufflepuffs are known for that sort of thing.”

“Well, then, I hope you don’t improve,” she replied, smiling, and began to turn away.

He stopped her with a touch on the arm. “Weasley,” he said more seriously, “I really am glad you’re alright. I’m— that is, I don’t mean to make light of it.”

Ginny patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I grew up with Fred and George. I’m used to making light of dire situations.”

“Well, that’s alright, then.” Cauldwell stood back, looking relieved. “I won’t keep you, then.”

“Ta.” She gave him a little wave, and headed toward the other end of the room, where Neville, Luna, and Collin were waiting for her.

“Hello, you lot,” she said as she approached them. “Do we know all these people?”

“All of them were vouched for by someone we trust,” Luna told her. “And they got through the door, so…”

“All right,” said Ginny, shrugging. “I’m just surprised there’s so many, that’s all.”

“Well, we’d better get started,” said Neville. “We’ve got to have them sign the form, first.” He raised his voice. “Settle down, you lot! We’ve got a lot to do and not much time.”

The students quieted at once, their faces a range of expressions from excitement to curiosity to nervousness.

“Right,” Neville continued. “First off, welcome to Dumbledore’s Army! In case some of you don’t know why you’re here, we’re re-banding now for a couple of reasons.” He held up a finger. “First, we need to be able to defend ourselves against the Carrows, Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, and so on. So we’ll be learning and practicing defensive spells to that end.” A second finger went up. “Second, we aim to resist Snape’s regime, and basically give him and the Carrows as much hell as we can. So we’re going to go about that in an organized way. Third—”

“I thought you said a couple,” said one of the Ravenclaws—Terry Boot, Ginny thought. Someone else shushed him, and Neville continued.

“Third, we’re going to do whatever it takes to protect Muggle-borns and others who are targeted by You-Know-Who and the Ministry.” He dropped his hand, and turned a serious face to the crowded room. “One more thing. We’re all loyal to Harry Potter, here. We don’t know where he is, or exactly what he’s doing, but we do know that he’s working against You-Know-Who. Whatever the Ministry says, if you’re in Dumbledore’s Army, you’re with him, a hundred percent.”

Ginny stepped forward. “If anyone has a problem with that, let us know now. We’ll have you undergo a couple of safe spells to ensure you can’t blab about what we’re doing, and you can be on your way.”

No one moved, but a tall Ravenclaw with sunburned skin and a long blonde ponytail raised his hand.

“Question?” Ginny asked. “What’s your name?”

“Declan Haworth,” he said. “Listen, not that I’m not on board with all this, but how far are you expecting us to go? Because if we’re talking about all-out war, well… some of us aren’t really prepared for that.”

“No one has to fight if they don’t want to,” said Neville. “If you just want to learn to protect yourselves, that’s fine. Just as long as you’re willing to accept our principles and keep our secrets.”

There were looks of relief as he finished. Ginny raised her voice again. “What Neville says is true,” she said. “But it’s important to realize that this isn’t an academic question. The reason we’re doing this is because all of us—Purebloods included—are in danger. Hogwarts is not a safe place to be, and sooner or later, the odds are that you’re going to have to make a choice. At some point, you _will_ face Death Eaters—and Ministry officials—who will try to hurt you. At some point, you’re going to need to decide whether you’re going to fight, or hide, or knuckle under.”

She looked around the room, making eye contact with the other students. “By now, you’ve all heard about—or seen—what the Carrows did to Dennis, Neville, and me. This isn’t going to be the last time something like that happens. I guess what I’m saying is, we—the four of us standing here—aren’t going to force you to fight if you don’t want to. But in the end, the choice may be life or death, and fighting might be your only chance. You’re not safe. Don’t make the mistake of believing you are.”

A ringing silence followed her words. Some of the students looked frightened. Lavender and Parvati were whispering anxiously to one another, while Seamus frowned thoughtfully. Hannah Abbott caught her eye and gave a grim nod of approval.

“Well,” said Luna, breaking the tension. “Thank you, Ginny, for spelling out the harsh realities of our situation. On a brighter note, we are seeing a surge in the Freshwater Plimpie population due to a new management plan from the Department of Magical Creatures, so things aren’t all bad.”

This statement was greeted with blank stares. Luna smiled brightly and went on. “Anyway, next on our list is… well, a list. We would like everyone to sign this sheet, which has a number of spells on it to keep it—and us—safe. Ginny, of course, can explain.”

“Right,” said Ginny. “Well, all you really need to know is that there’s a tongue-tying spell on it, which will feel really odd for a second after you sign, but will keep you from spilling anything to Carrow-supporters, so we feel it’s worth  it. Also, if by some chance you do manage to betray us… anyone remember what happened to Marietta Edgecombe?”

Nods. Even those who hadn’t seen her disfigurement first-hand had heard the story. It had become the stuff of Hogwarts legend.

Ginny grinned, and several people stepped backward. “This will make her face look like a couple of freckles. Understood?”

This was greeted by looks of interest (mostly from the Ravenclaws), horror, and glee, depending on the student. Nobody broke for the door, though, which Ginny took as a good sign. As Luna passed around the sheet, resulting in various gagging noises from the students as their tongues rolled and unrolled inside their mouths, Neville took up the speech again.

“Some of you might remember the enchanted coins we used to communicate last time. We’re using them again, with a few improvements.” He explained how the coins worked, then handed a bagful to Colin to pass out.  “And now we’ve about an hour to practice some defense moves before we’ve all got to be back in our dorms. Ginny?”

Ginny noted that the students were looking apprehensive again, and wondered if she was really that intimidating, or if they were just expecting more gloom and doom.

“Okay,” she said. “A lot of you already have some experience with defensive spells, but tonight I want to focus mostly on dueling techniques. You see, something I’ve noticed about most of the lessons we’ve had, is that we focus on one spell at a time. But real fights aren’t like that. You’ve got to keep firing spells—different spells—the whole time, or you’re dead. No matter how perfect your curse is, unless you take down your opponent the first try—and that person is the only one fighting you—they’re not going to stop hurling hexes at you to say, ‘Good jinx, well done, five points to Gryffindor.’”

There was laughter, as she’d hoped there’d be, and she waited for it to subside before continuing.

“There’s a few things people tend to do when thrown into a fight. The first is what I just described—throwing one jinx and then standing around looking pleased until someone decides to Stun them, or worse. The second is just to freeze up, or run away—obviously, no good. The third is to just shout as many spells as they can think of, one after another, pretty much at random. Anyone care to explain what’s wrong with that method?”

Jimmy Peakes raised his hand.

“Peakes?”

“What if the spell that comes to mind is no good?” he said. “Like, if I’m up against some chap firing Unforgiveables at me, and I decide to go with a Tickling Hex, that’s not going to do me much good, is it?”

“Right,” said Ginny. “So you want to make sure that the spells in your arsenal are strong enough to actually do something if you’re in a bad situation. Anyone else?”

“They could be inappropriate,” said a dark-haired Ravenclaw, whom Ginny was pretty sure was Sue Li, the older of the two sisters. “Like, using a Stunner against a Dementor.”

Ginny nodded. “That’s a good example. Another one is Inferi—there’s a lot of spells that won’t work on them, because they can’t feel pain, or bleed, or whatever. But they don’t like heat, so things like _Confringo_ or _Incendio_ work best on them.”

“You’ve fought Inferi?” asked Michael Corner, looking horrified.

She shook her head. “Not personally, no. But I’ve talked to… people… who have. Don’t use _Sectum Sempra_ on them, people. It’s a waste of breath.” She took a breath, and went on. “There’s also a different set of spells you’re going to use on individuals versus groups, but we’ll go into that another time. But I think you can all see that there are drawbacks to just shouting whatever spells come into your head when you’re in a tight spot, right?”

There were murmurs of agreement. Ginny felt a little spark of pleasure as she saw how closely they were following her; she hadn’t been sure if the ideas she’d had about this would make sense outside of her own head.

“Okay,” she said. “So what we’re going to do tonight is work on combining spells. We’ll start out with a pretty simple one— _Expelliarmus, Immobulis, Incarcerus._ So, you Disarm your opponent, freeze them, and tie them up. Or, you attempt to Disarm them, miss, attempt to freeze them, miss, and finally hit them and tie them up. Either way, you’re putting them out of commission without injuring them. So, everyone divide into pairs. If you don’t know one of the spells I just mentioned, head over there—” she motioned toward the other end of the room—“and Luna and Colin will help you learn it. If you’re comfortable with all three spells, come more to this side, and Neville and I will walk you through the combination. Any questions? Okay, everyone find a partner and we can get started.”

The students settled into the rhythm of the exercise quickly. They started off taking turns practicing the spell sequence, then progressed to both students trying the spells at the same time. This resulted in a lot of work for Ginny and Neville, who had to retrieve escaped wands and rescue pairs who had managed to freeze or bind each other at the exact same time.

“You have to look at what your partner is doing,” Ginny told Declan. “If Padma’s pointing her wand at your chest, move. Part of avoiding a curse is not to be where it’s cast.”

“It’s so much to keep track of,” he said. “It feels like I’m juggling.”

Neville, who had been working with Lavender and Parvati next to them, overheard. “It’ll feel like that at first,” he said cheerfully. “It took me months to get the hang of all these spells when I started in the D.A, and that was doing them one at a time. Dueling’s a whole different skill-set, and fighting in a crowd’s another.”

“I took a long time to catch on, too,” Padma told him. “I could do the spells perfectly well by myself, but the minute Harry put me up against a partner, I was rubbish. I’d go all panicky and forget what I was meant to be doing.”

“Part of this is reflex,” said Neville. “It’s being able to act and react without thinking about it—”

“Just like catching a Quaffle,” Ginny finished.

Declan, who was a Chaser on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, grinned. “Well, if all it takes is practice, I can handle it.”

Ginny returned his smile. “That’s why we’re here.”

 

The allotted hour passed surprisingly quickly, and Ginny thought the students had made quite a lot of progress by the time Neville called a stop.

“You’re all doing really well,” he told them earnestly. “We’ll set up another meeting next week, but if you want to help with… um… more rebellious activities, talk to me, Ginny, Luna, or Colin, and we’ll let you know what’s going on. Anything else, you three?”

“Remember what we’re here for,” said Colin, looking unusually serious. “Don’t go blabbing about what we’re doing—and watch out for signs of blood prejudice. Part of this is protecting the people who need it—some of us are more vulnerable than others. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if someone’s in danger, help them out—or get someone else who can.”

There were murmurs of assent. Ginny stepped forward. “If anyone brought clothing donations like I asked, please put them on that table in the corner.”

“What are they for?” someone called.

“Something nefarious,” she answered with a grin. “Donations on the table. Thanks.”

Luna went last, stepping up onto a chair so everyone could see her. “There are people who should be here,” she said. “People who are on the run, or imprisoned, or missing. I’d like to say their names, and if you can think of any names, please say them too.”

The room was absolutely still as she took a breath.

“Anthony Goldstein. Felicity Eastchurch. Ethan Proudfoot.”

Ginny joined in. “Dean Thomas. Hermione Granger. Harry Potter.”

A collective intake of breath followed Harry’s name. Colin filled the gap.

“Calliope Wildsmith. Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

“Leanne Lewis,” added Neville. “Lisa and Sean Turpin.”

Other students began to add names, some familiar, others Ginny didn’t know. When they were done, a little silence fell; the list of missing students felt like a weight, a demand for some kind of retribution or assistance.

Luna broke the quiet. “These people are our friends and fellow students,” she said. “They should be here with us, and we all know why they aren’t. Don’t forget. Don’t give up. And don’t ever stop believing that we _will_ overcome.” She looked around, meeting their eyes. “If you ever start to doubt what we’re fighting for, remember the names. They’re counting on us, and as long as we can count on each other, we’ve got a chance.”

There was a pause as she finished; then someone started to clap, and then everyone was clapping, and then it was over. The members of the new D.A. dispersed by ones and twos and threes, with Colin, Dennis, and Seamus acting as lookouts until everyone was back to their dorms.

Ginny gathered up the sizeable pile of clothing that had been left on the table, and stuffed it into a dragon-skin pouch that Charlie had given her, on which she’d placed another Undetectable Extension Charm.

“Well,” she said to Neville, “at least Zaza will be happy.”

He smiled. “As long as Zaza’s happy, that’s what counts.”

They wandered back along the familiar corridors, relaxing as they got closer to Gryffindor Tower. Neville looked thoughtful, walking slowly with his hands in his pockets.

Ginny bumped his shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking a little embarrassed. “I was just wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, just… you know. I was wondering what _he’d_ think. Of us doing this, I mean. What he’d do, if he were here.”

There was no need to ask who _he_ was. Ginny had been thinking the same thing. “He’d be behind us all the way,” she said. “And I bet he’d be right proud of you, Nev—you’ve come a long way.”

“I have,” he agreed. “I never realized… I never would’ve thought I could do this. Any of it. I figured, if I could just pass Transfiguration and have a friend or two, I was doing about as well as I was going to.”

She nodded, remembering how hapless he had seemed the first few years she’d known him. Lonely, too. It was the loneliness that had first drawn them together, she and Neville and Colin; all of them outsiders in one way or another, all of them searching for some kind of anchor, something to call their own. Colin was Muggle-born and too excited about everything, too obvious in his hero-worship of Harry, and singled out by his status as the Basilisk’s first victim. Ginny, used to a houseful of brothers with whom she fought and shouted and struggled for attention, had become timid when suddenly left alone with strangers who didn’t understand her shabby robes or her colorful slang or the fierce temper she’d inherited from her mother, and bitterly isolated after her traumatic first year. Neville had been lonely in a dorm where the other boys were all best friends with each other, and his difficulty with both classwork and social life had convinced him he was destined to be a failure.

“You just needed to believe in yourself,” she said aloud.

“No,” said Neville. “I needed other people to believe in me.”

They stopped outside the portrait, leaning against the wall nearby.

“The D.A?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I mean, the whole thing at the Ministry was terrifying, obviously, and Harry’s godfather… that was pretty horrible. But—after that, it seemed like… I dunno. It was like being part of something. You all trusted me with your lives, and I trusted you with mine, and I think—it made a difference.”

“And getting a wand that actually worked probably helped,” Ginny added.

“Yeah, the wand helped.” He gave her a warm smile, and turned to the Fat Lady—Ermengarde, she reminded herself. “ _Hippocampus_.”

“Right you are!” She swung forward, and Neville scrambled through, catching his toe on the threshold and nearly falling before he made it inside.

_Leader of the student rebellion,_ _and he still trips over his own_ _feet_ , thought Ginny. _For all we’ve grown up, maybe we haven’t changed that much after all._

Smiling to herself, she climbed through the Portrait Hole behind her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the new characters in this chapter are based on Harry Potter canon. Sue Li, Lisa Turpin, and Leanne are all mentioned in the books-- Cathy Li (Sue's sister), Sean Turpin (Lisa's brother), and Leanne's surname (Lewis) are my invention. I used characters from the Harry Potter video games (Owen Cauldwell, Declan Haworth, Felicity Eastchurch), as well. 
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, the Lis' parents are Muggle-born, and the Turpins and Leanne are Muggle-born. The Patils are half-blood, with a Muggle-born mother.
> 
> The Ballycastle Bats are a Northern Irish Quidditch team. They're mentioned on Pottermore and in Quidditch Through the Ages.


	15. The Compact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny encounters Peeves and House Elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue from Peeves is a direct quote from the books.

She went down to the kitchens the next morning, when the sun had just barely risen and no one else was stirring. She’d always liked this time of day; at the Burrow, it was the one time when everything was peaceful and quiet, and she could have some privacy outside of her own room. At Hogwarts, she had come to enjoy wandering the empty halls in the first glow of dawn, when nobody else was around to see or hear her.

Today, she’d cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself. She wasn’t very good at them yet, but she needed the practice, and the slight edge that being camouflaged could give her if she ran into Filch, Snape, or the Carrows. _Or Peeves_ , she realized as she heard the tell-tale cackle from down the hall.

Quickly, she ducked into an empty classroom, closing the door quietly behind her. A moment later, the door burst open again, and Peeves swooped through, a wide, mad grin threatening to split his face in half.

“Ooh,” he said, coming to a halt near where she’d pressed herself against the wall. “I thought I heard someone sneaking about! Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?” His sharp little black eyes seemed to meet hers, though she knew he could only see the faint outline of her form. He raised his voice in an annoying sing-song. “Should tell Filch, I should, if someone’s creeping about unseen!”

With a sigh, Ginny banished the Disillusionment Charm. “Hi, Peeves.”

He gave a little mad cackle. “The Weasel girl! Up to no good, I’ll bet.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I thought I’d set off some Dung Bombs in the stairway, but obviously that’s not going to work, now that you’re onto me.”

“Dung Bombs?” His eyes lit up. “You have Dung Bombs, Weasel?”

She shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I can’t set them off now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you’re going to turn me in, aren’t you? I’m not going to risk whatever hell the Carrows want to put me through for a couple of Dungbombs.”

Peeves was staring at her, mouth slightly open. Ginny heaved a sigh.

“It’s a pity, because I got these new ones from Fred and George, and the stink lasts for _hours._ ”

The poltergeist snapped to a decision. “Give them here!” he blurted. “I’ll set ‘em off, I know a great place! Don’t waste them on a stairwell.”

Ginny feigned surprise. “ _You_ want them? What about telling Filch on me?”

A look of cunning crossed his broad face. “I won’t tell Filch about you if you give me the Dungbombs,” he said slyly. “Trust Peevesy!”

She didn’t trust him at all, so she took a step toward him. “I’ll make you a better deal,” she said. “I’ll give you the Dungbombs, and if you don’t tell Filch about this—or anything else you catch me doing—I’ll get you more. As many as you want.”

“Yes, yes, alright!”

“You sell me out, and the deal’s off,” she warned.

“I won’t tell!” He stuck out his hand, and she put hers in her pockets, grinning.

“Oh no, Peeves. I’m not stupid enough to shake your hand, but I’ll take you at your word.” Her smile broadened at his disappointed expression. “Why, what were you planning?”

He gave her a grumpy look. “I don’t tell _all_ my secrets.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she agreed, and pulled the extended sock from her pocket. It had more in it than Dung Bombs; she’d loaded it with all the useful tricks she could think of, in case of an emergency.

“Here.” She handed him the bag of Dung-bombs, and he frowned.

“These are small.”

“Twice the power, half the size.” She gave him a wink. “Trust me, they’re worth it. Let me know how you like them.”

He weighed them in his hand for a moment, then smirked. “Oh, I’ve plans for these! Can’t hang around all day.” He zoomed toward the door, then stopped, hovering.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Weasley.”

“Cheers, Peeves.”

She watched him go, and waited another five minutes before recasting the Disillusionment Charm and continuing on her way.

 

Zaza, at least, was happy to see her. “Weasley, you came! Does you have the clothes?”

“Yes, and hopefully this is enough for everyone. I’m nearly out of resources at this point.” She didn’t mention that she was down to two pairs of socks, having added all her others to the donations bag, nor that the threadbare robes she’d added had been meant to last her the rest of the school year. This was more important.

“All you who hasn’t been freed, come here!” called Zaza. “Weasley is having clothes for us!”

The Elves crowded around Ginny as she upended her bag onto the table, dumping out the pile of clothing she’d gathered from the D.A. Some of them looked excited, others morose, and some downright terrified. From Zaza’s stern look, she guessed that some, at least, were doing this because they had been ordered to, not because they wanted to.

“Get into line!” Zaza told them. “Weasley will give the clothes to you.”

Noticing one Elf casting longing looks at a particularly hideous chartreuse hat, Ginny had an idea. “Would they like to… um… pick out what they want, and then I can give it to them?”

Zaza looked surprised. “Elves takes what they is given, Weasley.”

“Well, you’re practically freeing yourselves, anyway; you might as well get something you want out of it.”

This time, the Elf looked thoughtful. “Very well. Listen!” she shouted to the surrounding Elves. “If you is wanting a particular thing, take it and give it to Weasley when it’s your turn! _No fighting_ ,” she added sternly. The warning wasn’t unwarranted—a couple of Elves had already made a grab for the same tie, and had begun to tussle over it.

_Maybe that was a bad idea_ , thought Ginny, but she couldn’t help smiling as a wizened old Elf approached her, beaming, with a bright orange scarf with small bludgers all over it.

_I wonder who the Chudley Cannons fan is?_ she thought as she took the scarf, then handed it back. _Or ex-Cannons, if they’re getting rid of the scarf._

The Elves didn’t seem to worry much about gender roles, she noticed. A tall, male Elf was ecstatic over receiving a pink, frilly skirt that she thought she remembered belonging to Lavender Brown, while a delicate little female Elf took a fancy to a T-shirt with the legend “Babe Magnet” on the front. Then again, she supposed a group of people who were used to wearing tea towels wouldn’t care much about gendered clothing choices.

 Others of the Elves—those who clearly didn’t want to be free in the first place—made their selections with less care, handing her socks and ties with little attention to what they looked like. One burst into tears upon receiving his sock, and was comforted by a neat little Elf wearing a badly stained blouse and skirt. Ginny wondered why she looked vaguely familiar, before she heard the Elf say, “Winky understands… it’s hard, to be turned away. You come with Winky, Borgo. Come away.”

_Right. She was Barty Crouch’s Elf. The one who…_ She stared after the pair in fascination, but was recalled to her task by the next Elf in line.

“Jeeves is not like Borgo, Miss!” piped up the Elf. She was rather heavy-set, less bony than most of the Elves Ginny had seen, with unusually long black hair. “Jeeves is happy to be freed!”

“I’m glad,” said Ginny. “Can I ask about your name? It seems… unusual.”

“My old mistress named me after a character in a Muggle book, Miss,” she said, handing Ginny her item of choice, a rainbow-striped stocking cap that Ginny was pretty sure was Luna’s. “When she died, she left me to Hogwarts in her will. Like a piece of _furniture_ ,” she added, with so much bitterness in her voice that Ginny actually shivered.

“That’s… that’s rough,” said Ginny sympathetically, returning the hat. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well… Jeeves is a free Elf now.” Jeeves gave her a fierce grin. “And _no one_ can make Jeeves do anything she doesn’t want to be doing, so there!”

“Good for you.” She smiled warmly, and Jeeves skipped off, jamming the cap onto her head as she went.

 

When the rest of the Elves had been freed (with only a single sock left over), Ginny accepted Zaza’s offer of breakfast, and sat down to a table with her and Dobby.

After talking with Jeeves, she felt… odd. She, like most wizards, had never thought much about _why_ House Elves were enslaved—she’d just assumed, like everyone else, that they were happy that way. Obviously, you heard about extreme cases, like Dobby’s, where the Elf was really abused, but… on the whole, she’d thought Elves were… well, the truth was that she hadn’t thought about it much at all. When Hermione had started her whole campaign to free the House Elves—Spud, was it? No, SPEW—Ginny had thought it pointless, silly. Now, she realized that although Hermione had gone about it the wrong way—trying to swoop in to the rescue, instead of talking to the Elves and finding out what they wanted—she had been fundamentally right.

Elves were sentient beings, and they didn’t deserve slavery.

“Is you alright, Miss?” asked Dobby anxiously. “You seems quiet.”

“I’m fine, Dobby. Just thinking, is all.” Ginny ate another mouthful of porridge, then said, “I’m just… I’m really glad you decided to free yourselves.”

Zaza raised an eyebrow. “We is doing what must be done, Weasley. We is not attempting to shirk our duty.”

“No, I know.” She paused, trying to think of a tactful way to say this. “It’s just… I know it’s traditional. But it’s weird to see talking, thinking beings treated as possessions.”

Dobby looked at the table, shoulders hunched a little. “Dobby has always thought so, Miss,” he said quietly.

Zaza cast him an irritable look. “Dobby was belonging to bad wizards,” she said. “That is different. We wants to serve, Weasley. We is supposed to.”

“But don’t you want to serve because… well, because you want to?” Ginny asked. “Not because you have to? Isn’t that why we’re doing this?”

There was a brief silence; at last Zaza nodded. “Yes,” she admitted. “That is why.”

“But you’re not supposed to feel that way.”

Another pause; then, “No. We is not.”

Ginny pushed the last bite of porridge around the bowl with her spoon, not looking at her companions. “I expect it’s rather scary, isn’t it,” she said, “suddenly being… responsible, for all your own actions. No one making you do anything. No clear punishments if you do something wrong. Hell, no one to even tell you what _is_ right and wrong. I expect it’s a bit like growing up, isn’t it? Only you have to do it all at once.”

Zaza sighed. “Yes, Weasley. You is right. Zaza…” she hesitated, then plowed on. “Zaza has always been… stubborn. Wilful, maybe. But Zaza never thought of _freedom_ , oh no.” Her voice took on a bitter tone. “Zaza is not a _bad Elf._ But… there is a compact, Weasley, between Masters and Elves. The Elf shall do the Master’s bidding, and the Master shall protect the Elf.”

Dobby snorted.

“In the beginning, there was the Elf, and there was the Wizard,” said a new voice. Ginny looked up, startled, to see Winky standing next to her. The Elf’s face was very solemn; she sounded as though she were reciting something. “The Elf said, ‘I has the wild magic, but I has no home, no protector. I does not know right from wrong, and I is afraid.’ And the Wizard said, ‘I knows right and wrong, and I can protect a home, but I has no one to look after me. I is alone, and I has no one to depend on.’”  She turned to look at Ginny with wide brown eyes. “And so the Elf and the Wizard made a vow, that Elves should serve and obey, and Wizard-kind should protect us, and tell us right from wrong. And so that we should remain faithful, we was bound together, Master and Servant, by bonds unbreakeable… by blood.”

There was a little silence following this speech. At last, Dobby cleared his throat and said, “Elves remember, but the Wizards forgot, long, long ago.”

“We must still serve,” whispered Winky.

Zaza shook her head. “No, Winky. Not when Wizards break their word to our kind.”

“Winky, we has talked about this,” said Dobby quietly. “When Wizards hurt us, and do bad things, we does not owe them our loyalty.” His face turned suddenly fierce. “We owes them _nothing._ ”

“Maybe they is right.”

“They is not.” Zaza pulled back her sleeve, revealing a long gash there. It looked horribly recent. “Not when they does _this._ ”

 “Is that—”

“The Carrows is not pleased with me,” she said softly. “They will have cause to be less pleased yet.”

Ginny looked at her for a long moment. “Zaza, I—I realize this whole issue of freedom is tricky for you. All of you. But…” she hesitated, looking around at them. “I think, once you get used to it, you’ll find that—as scary, and strange, as it is, being able to make your own decisions—not being controlled by someone else—it can be good. Really, really good.”

“Winky has not found it so,” said Winky.

Ginny met her eyes. “Is that because you are free, do you think? Or because when you gained your freedom, you lost your family?”

Tears suddenly welled up in Winky’s eyes, and Ginny instantly felt remorseful. “Merlin, I’m sorry, Winky. Here—have my handkerchief—”

“N—no thank you, Miss,” gulped Winky, and fled.

Ginny looked back at the others. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Weasley.” Zaza sounded exasperated. “She is always like this.”

“Right.” She wasn’t sure if this made her feel better or worse. “Well, uh—anyway. I know this freedom stuff is hard. But I really think you—all of you—will come to like it.”

“Zaza thinks so too, Weasley.” The Elf grinned. “And when we gets used to it… who knows?”

Ginny laughed. “All of us Wizards better watch out.”

“Yes, Weasley.” She positively cackled. “You should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I didn't mean this fic to turn into "Ginny and the House Elf Rebellion", but what the hell. I like House Elves, and I thought it was a subject worth exploring.


	16. Schoolwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny, Colin, Dennis, and Neville hang out and do their homework.

Ginny went back to the Tower, where she found Colin and Dennis giggling over Peeves’s Dungbombing of the Great Hall that morning.

“Did you _see_ Carrow’s face? I thought she was going to have a heart attack!”

“You’d think a pair of _teachers_ ’d be able to conjure Bubble-head charms.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Dennis, you’ve seen them. If it’s not Dark magic, they don’t think it’s worth knowing.”

The gleeful expression on Dennis’s face turned thoughtful. “I wonder what other charms they don’t know…?”

 _That’s certainly an idea worth pursuing,_ Ginny thought. She threw herself down in a chair next to Dennis and made a swipe for the packet of digestives he was holding. He squeaked in surprise and jerked it away, making her laugh. “Hello, Creeveys,” she greeted them. “Busy morning?”

Colin waved a hand languidly. “It’s only half-ten, Weasley. We’ve plenty of time to get things done.”

“That’s what you always say,” she answered. “And then you’re still doing homework at one in the morning, bemoaning the fact that you didn’t start it earlier.”

“Yes, but at least I’m _up_ , aren’t I? Neville’s still sleeping, the layabout.”

“Well, maybe we should wake him up.”

“You can, if you want. Remember what happened last time?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. We got you off the ceiling just fine after a couple tries.”

“A couple of tries!” Colin’s voice cracked with indignation. “I was up there for half an hour, thank you very much!”

“Up where for half an hour?” a raspy voice demanded.

They looked up to see Neville, still in his pajamas, standing at the bottom of the stairs. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and he had the look of someone who, while upright, was not technically awake.

“‘A diller a dollar, a ten o’clock scholar,’” said Colin.

Neville and Ginny both looked at him. “What?”

Dennis sighed. “Don’t mind him, it’s a Muggle thing. For babies.”

Colin hit him halfheartedly with a chair cushion, which he ducked easily.

“What? It’s true!”

Neville stumbled over to a chair and sank into it, still bleary-eyed. “I will never understand you two,” he mumbled.

“That makes two of us,” said Ginny. “Anyway, what’s up with you? You look like something the Necromancer dragged up.”

He sighed, letting his head fall back over the headrest. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said to the ceiling. “I kept worrying about stuff.”

“Like the Carrows?” Ginny asked gently.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded. “Among other things. I just…” He sighed again, flopping his head to one side to look at her. “I just hope we’re not making things worse.”

“Mate,” said Colin, “the world’s already going to hell in a handbag. I don’t think it’s possible for _us_ to make it worse.”

Neville closed his eyes. “I sure as hell hope not.” A pause, then he rocked forward to rub his face with his hands. “It’s too early for this conversation. I need some tea.”

“And _there’s_ the Neville we know and love,” Ginny murmured, and went to put the kettle on.

 

They spent most of the day working on the homework they’d been neglecting for the past several days, and Neville regained his usual cheerfulness after two cups of tea and a large number of Dennis’s digestives.

Around four o’clock, Ginny laid down her quill and rubbed her eyes. “Well, that’s Muggle Studies finished.”

Colin looked up from his Ancient Runes homework, frowning. “That rubbish for Carrow? ‘Five ways Muggles are inferior to Wizards’?”

“Yeah.” She twisted her spine, trying to work out the kinks from sitting still so long. “Did you write yours yet?”

“Haven’t been able to face it yet. What’d you do for it?”

“I think I made a pretty decent argument for Muggle equality,” she said, shrugging. “I based it mostly off the idea that technology is equal to magic, and also, you know, the fact that we’re all human, and that.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“No, she’s not. Assuming she actually reads it.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Neville.

“Well, the Carrows are barely literate, are they?” Ginny said. “You’ve heard how they talk. And she assigned _twelve inches of parchment_. For a Sixth-Year essay! I mean, that’s First or Second-year level—hardly NEWT standard.”

Neville looked amused. “You’re starting to sound like Hermione.”

“Well, someone has to keep up the academic standards around here,” she said with mock-sternness. “Anyway, the point is, I don’t think she’s much of a reader, and… well, take a look.”

She held out the essay, and both Neville and Colin leaned in to look at it. She’d written it in her smallest, fanciest, cursive, which would have been hard to read even for someone used to academia.

“The controversy relating to the commensurate abilities and value of Muggles versus Wizard-kind has long dichotomized the Wizarding world. Although magical ability is frequently lauded by certain ideologues as the sole proficiency worth possessing, the near-miraculous inventiveness of Muggle technology has, in many instances, surpassed or equiponderated magical achievements….”

Colin looked up, mouth open. “Ginny, this is brilliant. She won’t understand a word of it.”

“I’m not sure _I_ understand a word of it,” complained Neville. “What does “equiponderated” even _mean_?”

“Equal,” she said. “Or close enough. I pretty much just went through the thesaurus and chose the words I thought would be hardest for them.”

“I think you succeeded.” Neville handed back the essay, face alight with mischief. “I’ll have to try this. Merlin, can you see her face if we all start handing in essays like this? She’ll go round the bend!”

“And it’s not like she can punish us,” piped up Dennis. “What’s she gonna do, outlaw words of three syllables?”

“She might, at that,” Ginny said thoughtfully, putting her essay back in her bag. “But I doubt she’ll think to just yet.”  
She stood up, stretching, and slung the bag over her shoulder. “I need a break. I’m going flying.”

“Want me to come with?” Neville asked. His tone was carefully neutral; he’d never gotten comfortable using a broomstick, and she knew that he’d get bored of watching her after half a minute.

“Nah, I just want to clear the cobwebs away,” she told him. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Dennis looked mournfully at his Transfiguration essay. He’d been working on it all afternoon, and there was ink on his nose.

“I’ve still got eight inches left,” he groaned.

“Take a break,” suggested Ginny. “It’ll still be there when you get back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He bit his lip, clearly in turmoil, but finally slid the essay into a folder and got to his feet. “Okay, I’m coming.”

She grinned. Schoolwork was all very well, but if you couldn’t spare an hour for Quidditch on a Sunday afternoon, then what was the point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really happy with the end of this, but figured I'd better just get it posted.   
> Originally I wanted to have a bit more about flying, because I think that's important to her, but I just haven't been motivated to write it. Oh well.   
> There'll be more Quidditch at some point.


	17. Potterwatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny gets in touch with Fred and George.

Monday was easily Ginny’s least favorite day of the week: she had Muggle Studies and Dark Arts, though thankfully not back-to-back. She, Luna, and Colin suffered through Alecto’s long, hateful speeches about how Muggles were barely human, then Ginny and Luna headed to Herbology, where bashing Snargaluff pods relieved her feelings somewhat. After lunch, it was Dark Arts, in which they were forced to practice spells that made Ginny’s skin crawl (literally, in the case of one particularly nasty curse).

Ginny counted it a decent day when they left Dark Arts with no one needing the Hospital Wing, although she was still having a difficult time shaking the sensation of her skin crumbling from her flesh. Ritchie, whom she’d partnered with, kept apologizing as they made their way to the Charms classroom.

“Ritchie, relax. You figured out the counter-curse, I’m fine.”

“You’re still shivering,” he protested. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do it so…”

“So well?” She shook her head. “He told us to practice the curse, so you did. I did too. I just—managed the counter-curse a bit quicker.” _And Carrow was happy enough to watch my skin peeling off while you struggled with it,_ she added silently.

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“Ritchie, seriously. Just drop it.”

He didn’t look happy, but he did at least stop talking about it. Ginny was glad when they finally reached the Charms classroom, where the concentration needed to turn vinegar to wine mostly drove the crawling sensation from her thoughts.

 

With her last class finished for the day, Ginny went up to the Owlery. Late afternoon sunlight slanted in through the glassless windows, gleaming on the feathers of the sleepy birds perched in ranks above her head. An excited twitter told her that Pigwidgeon had noticed her presence; he came shooting toward her like a small, fluffy cannonball, and zoomed in circles around her head before finally settling on her shoulder.

“You never get tired, do you?” she asked, stroking his tiny body with a forefinger. “Wish I had your energy.”

Pigwidgeon made a mewing noise, and tried to eat her hair.

She settled against the wall of the Owlery to write her letter, using the special quill that Fred and George had given her right before she left for Hogwarts.

 

“We’re not selling it in the shop,” Fred had told her. “This is just for personal use.”

“What does it do?”

“Turns what you write invisible.”

“Okay.” She’d rolled the quill between her fingers, unimpressed. “And how do you turn it visible again?”

“Well, that’s the clever bit,” said George. “You have to know the password.”

“And what’s the password?”

“Well, it changes every time, you see,” Fred explained. “It’s the last word you write on that piece of parchment. The recipient has to say the password aloud to see what you’ve written.”

“And how do they know the password?”

“Well, you’d have to tell ‘em beforehand.”

“‘Open Sesame’?” said Ginny skeptically.

George grinned. “We prefer ‘Swordfish.’”

 

She wrote carefully, trying not to say anything too obviously incriminating. She trusted Fred and George’s work, but it was best not to take any chances if she could help it.

_Dear Gred and Forge,_

_Thought you might need these. I’m in that club again, the one you used to be in. We’ve changed our communication methods a bit; use my name if you want to get in touch with me._

_How is that project I was working on? I expect it’s almost run its course. Tell me anything you can._

_I could do with more of those treats you gave me before I left—the ones in the half-pound sack. I’ve used up most of them already. Also, bruise balm._

_Hope you’re all okay._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

_Swordfish_

She looked the letter over, not totally satisfied. There was so much more she wanted—needed—to tell them, but she couldn’t think of any way to say it that would be subtle enough to pass unnoticed if someone were to read it after all. Then again, perhaps it was just as well. If she explained what was really happening here, the horrible things the Carrows had been doing, it would probably only worry them. Fred and George were the most cavalier of her brothers, but they could still be over-protective at times.

With a sigh, she waved her wand over the letter to make the words disappear, then wrote another note on the other side with an ordinary quill.

_Dear Fred and George,_

_How are you? Joke shop doing okay? Hope everything’s going well._

_’m doing fine, getting used to the new classes (Dark Arts and Muggle Studies) and mostly just studying. I got made Quidditch Captain, so that’s exciting. We’ve got a good team this year, and I’ll be working them hard in training. I’ve gotten a few detentions already—Hogwarts is a lot stricter than it used to be._

_I like the new quill you gave me. It doesn’t leak like my old one._

_Can’t think of too much else for now. Take care, and say hi to the family for me!_

_Love,_

_Ginny_

_PS. The money’s to pay you back for that skin-care potion you got me over the summer. I think it’s really working!_

 

Grinning slightly at the thought of Fred and George’s confusion when they read the bit about the skin-care potion—hopefully they’d at least have a moment of head-scratching before they realized what she’d really sent them—she folded the parchment into an envelope, along with two fake Galleons. She sealed it with a wave of her wand, then tied it to Pig’s leg—hampered by the fact that he kept hopping around and hooting in excitement.

“This is for Fred and George,” she told him. “Try to give it to them when there aren’t too many people around, alright? And wait for their reply before you come back.”

Pigwidgeon peeped loudly and bit her finger in what he probably thought was an affectionate gesture before taking off. Ginny stood by the window and watched him out of sight.

***

_Dear Ginny,_

_Good on you for getting your detentions in early. Thank Merlin you’ve still got your priorities straight, unlike others we could mention (*cough* Ron *cough cough*). And congratulations on your captaincy. The team’ll be ALMOST as good as when we were on it. Maybe we’ll come watch you play! (We’ll be rooting for the other team, of course.)_

_Speaking of Ron (we weren’t, but that’s okay), you should send him a letter. The poor lad could use some cheering up. We wanted to get him a manticore to introduce some excitement into his invalid lifestyle, but Mum said no. Anyway, I’m sure he’d be glad to hear from you._

_Thanks for the money. Pity the potion couldn’t do anything about your face._

_Only joking._

_Take care._

_Love,_

_Gred and Forge_

_PS. Mum wants us to de-gnome the garden again. Remember the gnome we tied to the Christmas tree? What was his name, again?_

 

Sitting alone in her dormitory, Ginny couldn’t help smiling at the letter. Fred and George could always brighten her day, even in the midst of all her worries and cares.

 “Swordfish,” she whispered.

Nothing happened.

_Did they not use the special quill? Or… did they use a different password?_

She looked over the letter again, searching for clues. _Remember the gnome we tied to the Christmas tree?_ Of course she remembered; it had nearly given Mum a heart-attack when the creature woke up and started cursing at the top of its lungs.

_“Aw, Mum, don’t tell us you don’t like Chester!”_

_“Good old Chester, always wanted to be an angel, didn’t you?”_

“Chester,” she said aloud, and more writing instantly splashed across the page.

_Hey Gin,_

_Project’s coming to an end, as we knew it would. We’ve got a couple more going, though—will tell you when we see you._

_Get hold of a radio if you can, and listen in at 7 pm Wednesday—repeat “Fawkes” and switch stations‘til you come to it. You’ll know it when you hear it._

_Stuff’s all packed for you, but we haven’t figured out how to sneak it in yet. Let us know using the other method if you suss it out._

_How bad are the detentions? On a scale of, say, 0 to Umbridge?_

_\--G & F_

_Chester_

 

The dormitory was nearly dark; everyone was at dinner, and she hadn’t bothered to light any lamps. She read the letter again, carefully, then incinerated it. Then she removed the Galleon from her pocket.

 _project—how successful?_ she wrote.

The reply came back a few seconds later. _final tally around 200._ A pause, then, _cdnt get last 10. they’re in basemnt of shop._

_can you get them out?_

_katie’s working on it_

_katie bell?_

_yeah_

_she’s safe, then_

_yes, ran for it in time. got contacts_

_good_

There was another pause before the next message.

_detention? 1 to umbridge_

She smiled grimly as she replied, _carrows = new scale. umbridge is 1 now_

_really???_

_really_

A longer silence, this time. _you ok?_

_fine_

_no_

_nothng mdm pomfrey cant hndle_

_that bad?_

She hesitated, but this was the twins she was replying to. They wouldn’t freak out the way Mum would.

_cruciatus_

_WE’RE GETTING YOU OUT OF THERE_

_NO_

_WHY NOT_

_cuz the others cant escape_

_THAT’S A STUPID REASON_

_someone’s got to look after them_

_GINNY._

_This was a bad idea,_ she thought, but touched her wand to the coin again.

_well, who else is going to keep them safe?_

_THIS IS DANGEROUS, GINNY_

_i’m aware,_ she answered, with more than a touch of exasperation, _but someone has to, and right now it’s me_

_the carrows are TORTURING you_

_so? i’m fighting them. just like with umbridge_

_this is different_

_yeah, this time it’s war_

A few seconds passed. _fair point,_ they conceded at last.

_don’t tell mum_

_no worries she’d blow her lid_

_thanks_

_yr welcome. BUT IF YOU’RE IN TROUBLE WE ARE COMING TO GET YOU_

She considered this a moment, then caved. _ok, that’s fair_

Even in tiny words printed on a coin, the twins’ next message was heavily tinged with worry.

_take care, won’t you?_

_i will_

_we mean it_

_i mean it too_

_ok_

_ok_

_talk to you later_

_ok bye_

_bye_

She pocketed the coin again, and leaned her aching head against the cool windowpane. Her skin still itched from Dark Arts the day before, and her eyes felt heavy from hours of studying this afternoon. She didn’t know how to fight a war, especially one waged in a school, where every student was a potential casualty—yet here she was, a general.

 _One without troops, supplies, or training,_ she thought with bitter humor, _but fighting nonetheless. I expect Mum would go ballistic if she knew half of what I’ve been doing._

She would fight, she knew, with every trick she had, as long as there was any breath in her body. And yet, in the face of Voldemort’s increasing power, it still didn’t seem like enough.

Terry Boot had a radio. Wednesday evening found Neville, Luna, the Creevey brothers, Seamus, Michael Corner, Hannah Abbot, and Susan Bones crowded into the Ravenclaw boys’ dormitory, listening intently while Ginny tapped and muttered under her breath.

Snatches of _Madam Tokira’s Tealeaves_ , the Wizarding Wireless Network, and _Harry Hokenheimer’s Mad, Mad Magic Show_ went by, and then, suddenly, a familiar voice said,

“Hello, listeners, and welcome to _Potterwatch._ I’m River, and I’ll be your host tonight.”

Terry’s eyes widened. “That’s never Lee Jordan, is it?”

“It definitely is,” confirmed Ginny.

“Shh, listen!”

“As you may have guessed from the name, we here at _Potterwatch_ firmly support Harry Potter, the Order of the Pheonix, and the anti-You-Know-Who movement—yes, it’s a movement, and yes, we are actually still fighting him. By the way, in case you didn’t know this already, there’s a jinx on You-Know-Who’s name. Say his real name, and you’ll have Death Eaters on you faster than you can say, “budgerigar”. Why you’d want to say “budgerigar” when confronted with the Dark Lord himself, I’ve no idea, but each to his own, I suppose. You’re entitled to your weird little quirks.”

Ginny glanced at the others, and saw that they were wearing grins to match her own.

“Anyway, back to the jinx—here to offer some suggestions on how to avoid it is our special correspondent, Rabies!”

“What?” said a second voice, even more familiar than the first. “I’m not being ‘Rabies’, no way! I said I wanted to be ‘Rapier’!”

“George!” whispered Ginny.

Seamus shook his head. “How can you tell?”

“You can’t be ‘Rapier’,” Fred’s voice spoke up. “I’m being Rapier!”

“I thought you were ‘Rodent’?” said Lee.

“Well, you thought wrong. I called Rapier. Ol’ Rabies here will have to think of something else.”

“Okay, ‘Rogue’. I’m being ‘Rogue’.”

“Alright, Rogue it is,” Lee decided. “So, Rogue, top tips on how to avoid You-Know-Who’s name?”

“Sure thing, River. We’ve been experimenting, and found out some variations that will NOT get the Snatchers called down on you.”

“And, for those listeners who’ve been out of the loop, can you just briefly remind everyone what Snatchers are?” interrupted Lee.

“OK, yeah. So Snatchers are basically a bunch of thugs roaming the countryside looking for people to arrest.”

“They tend to be smelly, hairy, and badly dressed,” put in Fred, “but don’t let that fool you. Despite mostly having the brains of a troll, they have no problem using Unforgiveables, and they are brutal.”

“That’s right, Rodent,” said George. “Basically, stay away from them as much as possible, and if you see them going for someone else, get back-up. We all need to do what we can to keep each other safe.”

“Thanks for that excellent description, boys,” Lee said. “OK, names for You-Know-Who?”

“Chief Death Eater,” said George.

“Tommy-boy,” Fred added.

“Voldy.”

“Moldy.”

“Ol’ Snake-Eyes.”

“Zombie-man.”

“The Riddler.”

“No-Nose.”

“The Noseless Wonder.”

“Mr. Maniac.”

“The Dictator.”

“Baldie.”

“The Bald Babe.”

“The Anti-Muggle Machine.”

“And finally, a couple from Riven, our Muggle-Born correspondent: Wizard-Hitler, Sauron, and Darth Vader Junior.”

“She assures us that all our Muggle fans will get the reference; also that we’re, and I quote, ‘totally missing out,’” said Fred.

“Well,” said Lee, “those nicknames should keep you going for a bit. Remember—avoid Snatchers, and don’t say the name! Thanks, Rodent and Rabies, for your input.”  
“Rapier!”

“Rogue!”

“Whatever.”

She could picture the smirk on Lee’s face as he continued, “Next up, we have a guest, Romulus, who’s going to bring us up to date on the latest news from the Wizarding world.”

“Thank you, River,” said Lupin’s mild voice. “And thank you for doing this show. Now, as most of you are aware, Muggle-borns are currently under attack from our new administration. Up until recently, a group of brave witches and wizards were helping Muggle-borns get through the MRC process unscathed. Unfortunately, due to the MRC’s increased documentation of Wizarding families, it will no longer be possible for Mixed-blood wizards and witches to change their geneology charts. Do not, under any circumstances, turn yourself over to the Muggle-born Registration Commission. Odds are that you will not come back.”

“And that bears repeating, Romulus,” put in Lee. “Don’t kid yourself—if the MRC comes knocking, your best chance is not to be home. But there is help available, isn’t there, Romulus?”

“There is indeed. If you feel that you may be under threat from this administration—or even if you don’t—please call our telephone hotline—and yes, that’s using a Muggle telephone—at 07-31-1980.”

“Harry Potter’s birthday, in case you didn’t catch that,” said Lee. “And again, that’s 07-31-1980.”

“If you can’t use a phone,” Lupin continued, “You can send an owl or Muggle post to 81 Brixby Lane, Dublin, Ireland. That’s 81 Brixby Lane, Dublin, Ireland.”

“Mail only,” said Lee. “Don’t try to Apparate there—it won’t exist.”

“Right.”

“Now, Romulus, can you give any other advice to Muggle-borns fleeing Ministry sources?”

They went on in this vein for a few minutes; then Lupin left, to be replaced by “Rise,” who was clearly Angelina Johnson, and “Rose”, who Luna told them was her father. More news was discussed, most of it disturbing; Angelina offered some advise on Defense techniques and using Muggle transportation, while Xenophilius taught some basic Warding spells and how to find food while on the run.

“And now for a segment we’re calling, ‘Pals of Potter’,” said Lee. “We’re starting off with a possible sighting of the P-man himself—a large group of Muggle-borns were recently rescued from the MRC, and eye-witnesses report seeing Harry Potter at the scene. If it was you, Harry, and you’re listening, keep it up!

“We aren’t releasing the names of the escapees for safety reasons. However, if you have escaped custody yourself—or you’re on the run, and want to reassure your loved ones—please contact us at our Dublin address, and we’ll get in touch with your loved ones to let them know you’re alright.”

There was the sound of paper shuffling, and he continued. “Alright, folks, we have one last segment—at the risk of depressing everyone, we’ve decided to report on those deaths and arrests the mainstream media deems unimportant.

“It is with great regret that we confirm the violent death of Charity Burbage, former Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts, who we have reason to believe was murdered by the Chief Death Eater himself. Mykew Gregorovitch, the German wandmaker, was recently found dead in suspicious circumstances. It is unknown whether his death had anything to do with our local band of British maniacs, but he is regretted none the less.

“We have also learned that Artemis Belby, whose ground-breaking work on the cure for Scrofungulus earned her the Mungo Bonham Award for Excellence in Healing, has been murdered. The Order of the Phoenix reports that she refused to—ah—‘assist the Ministry in their inquiries’ regarding the Blood Status of patients. Her husband and son have left the country.

“I would like to quote the words of Albus Dumbledore, spoken after the murder of Cedric Diggory. They seem especially appropriate now:

“‘Remember, if the time should come, when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord—’ well, You-Know-Who. Remember Cedric Diggory. Remember Charity Burbage, Mykew Gregorovitch, Artemis Belby, and so many others.

“Whether they were working for the Order of the Pheonix, fighting for justice, or trying to simply live their lives in peace, none of them deserved this fate. Please join me in a moment of silence for our fallen friends.”

Ginny bowed her head, and out of the corner of her eye, saw the others do the same. After perhaps thirty seconds, Lee’s voice returned.

“Thank you all for listening. The password of the next broadcast will be “Padfoot”, but we aren’t  sure yet when it will be. Keep twiddling those dials. Keep faith, keep each other safe. Good night.”

The radio dial whirred, and went silent. Ginny didn’t know quite how she felt—a mixture of sadness at the deaths Lee had reported, hope from the knowledge that others were fighting, too, and  amusement at Fred and George’s ridiculous antics. At the moment, sadness seemed to be winning.

“Belby was in the Slug Club,” she said. “I mean, only for about two seconds, but… he seemed like a nice kid.”

“He was,” said Luna. “Is, I mean. His mum—I read about her work, she was brilliant.”

“Bastards,” said Michael, with feeling.

The others nodded agreement, and fell quiet again.

After awhile, Seamus broke the silence. “That’s quite the show they’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “I hope… I mean, I hope it’s safe. For them, I mean.”

“Me too,” said Ginny. She looked thoughtfully at the radio. “It sounds like they’ve got something set up to help people hide. I wonder if we can work together, somehow?”

“We should definitely try,” Neville said. “Hey, we should give them some Galleons!”

“OK, but someone else will have to send them. They’ll get suspicious if I keep sending Galleons to people.”

“We can all send some,” said Terry eagerly. “Spread out, so it doesn’t look weird. We could do fake order forms, or something.”

“Just make sure you’re ordering something legal,” said Susan. “We should do it, though.”

“How many are we sending out?”

“Everyone who was in the old D.A, for starters.” Neville started counting on his fingers. “Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet—”

“I thought you said the D.A,” interrupted Michael. “Not the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

“It amounts to the same thing, almost. Let’s see, Lee Jordan, obviously, um… we don’t know where Anthony Goldstein or Justin Finch-Fletchley are—”

“I may be able to reach Justin,” said Hannah.

“Okay, and then, we’d better give some to the Order, too—”

“Maybe hand those off to McGonagall, let her sort it out?”

“Okay.” Neville looked around, his round face filled with determination. Listening to _Potterwatch_ seemed to have invigorated him as much as it had everyone else. “Let’s do this!”

 _And we will_ , thought Ginny as the group broke up. _Thank Merlin for Fred, George, and Lee. I can already tell they’re going to save our sanity this year._


	18. Kreacher's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kreacher has a problem. Ginny might be able to help.

A loud crack woke Ginny from a sound sleep. She dove for her wand, cursing as her elbow hit the hard wood of the nightstand, rolled out of bed, and ended crouching on the floor. Only then did she recognize the familiar diminutive figure standing in front of her.

“Dobby? What the fuck?”

“Dobby needs your help, Miss,” The Elf whispered nervously. “Dobby didn’t know where else to go…”

Ginny glanced over her shoulder, where her last remaining roommates, Eudora and Vicky, were still somehow asleep. _“Muffliato_ ,” she whispered, and turned back to Dobby.

“Okay, what’s going on? It’s…” She checked the clock on her bedside table. “Dobby, it’s three o’clock in the bloody morning!”

“Dobby knows that, Miss. Dobby wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t urgent, but…”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Dobby. What’s happened? Are you in trouble? Is someone hurt?”

“Sort of, Miss.” Dobby rocked back and forth, radiating uncertainty. “It’s… Miss Wheezy had better come see for herself. None of us is knowing what to do, Miss.”

Ginny fumbled for her dressing gown, grogginess and adrenaline warring for control of her brain. “Is it the Carrows?”

“No, Miss.”

She glared at him, one arm through the sleeve of her bathrobe. “Dobby, how the hell am I supposed to get… wherever we’re going? If we get caught sneaking around the halls at fuck o’clock in the morning…”

“We won’t get caught, Miss,” said Dobby earnestly. “Dobby will Apparate us.”

“Humans can’t Apparate in or out of Hogwarts,” Ginny snapped, pulling on her only pair of socks. “Everyone knows that. Well, anyone who’s read _Hogwarts, a History_ , anyway. Or talked to Hermione, like, three times.”

“Elves can Apparate in Hogwarts.”

“I know.”

“And we can take humans by Side-Along.”

She stopped in the middle of tying her trainers to stare at him. “Seriously? You can do that?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Wow.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe… how many people know that?”

Dobby’s smile, just visible in the moonlight, was crooked. “We doesn’t advertise it, Miss.”

“No, I should bloody well think not.” She finished tying her shoes and stood, trying to quell the nervous flutter of her stomach. “Okay, I’m ready. Unless there’s anything I should bring?”

“Just your wand, Miss.” He took her hand; she had expected it to feel like holding a child’s, but it didn’t. His hands were large for his height, long and bony, and she could feel calluses and scars on his palms.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly; there was a crack, a feeling of squeezing, choking darkness, and then her feet hit the floor.

She straightened, gasping for breath, and saw that they were in a sort of sitting room, filled with old chairs, sofas, and tables that looked as though they’d been retired from other parts of the castle. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace at one end of the room, but there were no pictures on the walls. The room was full of House-Elves.

Ginny took a breath. “Dobby, where the hell are we?”

“Elves’ Hall,” said a voice at her elbow.

She looked down. “Hi, Zaza. What exactly is Elves’ Hall…?”

“It’s where we goes when we isn’t working. We is safer here.” Her voice was cool, but Ginny could see the tension in the set of her jaw and the way her shoulders hunched. Ginny’s worries increased.

“What’s going on?” she asked for the third time. “Is everybody okay?”

“ _We_ is fine,” said Zaza. “Someone is here—and you is the only person close to…” she lowered her voice. “Harry Potter.”

Ginny blinked. “Wait… he’s not… it’s not _Harry_?”

“No, Miss,” said Dobby quickly. “It’s… well, you’d better come see, Miss.”

Bewildered, she followed him through the crowd of anxious Elves, toward the fireplace, where another Elf was sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair of the kind McGonagall favored. As she drew closer, she realized he was bound. Another step, and she recognized him.

_“Kreacher?!”_

“He just arrived, Miss,” Dobby told her. “We is not knowing what to do.”

Ginny didn’t know what to do, either. Kreacher was certainly no friend of hers; he’d insulted her and her brothers, called Hermione a Mudblood, and betrayed Sirius. Harry had told her about inheriting the Elf; as far as she knew, they loathed each other. Just now, though, Kreacher didn’t look remotely dangerous, or even malevolent—he was slumped over, looking both exhausted and filthy; there was a blood-stained bandage tied across his chest, and more cuts and bruises on his arms. He also looked terribly thin.

“Talk to him, Miss,” Zaza whispered. “He is saying he wants his Master Harry, but we don’t… you is the closest thing.”

Unsure how to respond to this, Ginny stepped forward uncertainly, and crouched down in front of the Elf. “Kreacher?”

His head snapped up. Blood-shot eyes widened. “Blood-Traitor Weasley,” he croaked.

Ginny stiffened at the term; but the venom with which Kreacher usually spoke it was gone. Instead, his tone made it sound like a title—the same way Dobby said “Miss”. What was going on?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Blood-Traitor Weasley,” he repeated. “Kreacher needs your help.”

She glanced back at the others. Dobby was scowling. Zaza gave her an encouraging nod.

“And what do you need my help with?” She couldn’t quite keep the sarcastic tone from her voice, but Kreacher didn’t appear to notice. He sniffed and turned his head to wipe his nose on his shoulder.

“Kreacher is scared,” he whispered. “Kreacher doesn’t know where to begin….”

“Begin with Harry,” she said, equally quietly. “Everything always comes back to him.”

“Yes, Blood-Traitor Weasley.” He closed his eyes, apparently gathering his thoughts, then reopened them. “The others must not hear.”

“Okay.”

“They is not to be trusted.”

“O—okay.”

“Kreacher is not talking in front of them!”

“ _Okay,_ ” Ginny repeated, irritated. “I get it.” She turned to Zaza and Dobby. “Can you give us some privacy? All of you?”

“Dobby is staying,” Dobby answered immediately. “Dobby does not trust Kreacher.”

“Look, I don’t want to make this any harder—”

“It’s alright,” Kreacher interrupted. “He is loyal to Kreacher’s Master. He can stay.”

Ginny sighed. “Fine. The rest of you, clear out. Please.”

As Zaza began chivying the rest of the House Elves out of the room, Ginny turned back to Kreacher. “Okay. We’re alone, nobody’s listening… now tell me what you’re doing here. And don’t try to lie. I’ve got spells that’ll tell me if you do.”

This wasn’t true, but Ginny didn’t think Kreacher would know the difference, and she wasn’t about to waste her time sorting through some mad sob-story if she could help it.

“Kreacher is not lying,” he croaked. “Master Harry and his friends has disappeared.”

“Disappeared? How? When?”

“They went to the Ministry. They was looking for—” He broke off. “Bad Kreacher,” he muttered. “Kreacher promised not to tell. Kreacher must not break his word to Master Harry.”

“They went to the Ministry,” Ginny repeated. She felt cold. Had they been caught? Were they, even now, being taken to Azkaban—or Voldemort? “When, Kreacher? When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. Snape had questioned her about their whereabouts only two weeks back; whatever had happened at the Ministry, they must not have been caught. Then she remembered what else Snape had said: _Grimmauld Place has been searched…_

“Kreacher,” she said, “Did anyone come to Grimmauld Place looking for them? Death Eaters, or…”

“Yes,” said Kreacher. “Bad wizards came; Kreacher had dinner ready, and heard the door open. Kreacher thought it was Master Harry and Mr. Ron and the Granger girl, but there was a bad man—Kreacher recognized him, Kreacher saw his Mark.”

“Did he… did he hurt you?” asked Ginny quietly.

He shook his head. “No, Blood-Traitor. He used a Cruciatus Curse, but Kreacher ducked. Then Kreacher Disapparated. Kreacher didn’t know what to do, so he waited until night and went back. The bad wizards had searched everything…” His voice trembled. “They broke the furniture, and they ruined Master H-Harry’s things…. Kreacher called for Master Harry, but no one answered… and Kreacher waited, and waited, but they didn’t come back….”

“You’ve been there for the past three weeks?”

“No. The bad wizards came back, and Kreacher left. Kreacher tried to find Master Harry, but Master Harry is good at hiding. Kreacher found places he’s been, but he was always gone by the time Kreacher found the place.”

Ginny frowned. “How did you find where he’d been? Is there some kind of… some kind of Trace?”

“House Elves can find magical signatures, Miss,” said Dobby quietly. He was watching Kreacher with a rather sorrowful expression. “The connection is being strongest between a Master and their Elf, but we can find others, if we has encountered their magic before.”

Kreacher nodded. “That’s how Kreacher found Mundungus Fletcher.”

“Wait… Mundungus? Why were you looking for him?”

The Elf began to shake his head, ears flapping, “Kreacher mustn’t tell, Kreacher keeps his Master’s secrets…”

Ginny huffed in exasperation. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m not asking you to spill Harry’s secrets. I was just surprised, that’s all.” She thought for a moment about what he and Dobby had just told her. “So… you should be able to find Harry, yeah? But he’s… what, he’s hiding from you?”

Kreacher shook his head again. “Master Harry is not hiding from _Kreacher_ ,” he told her earnestly. “Master Harry likes Kreacher, he is giving him Master Regulus’s locket.” His eyes welled with tears. “Oh, poor Master Harry… what is he doing, without Kreacher to take care of him?”

“I’m sure he’ll be alright, Kreacher.” She gave him a calculating look. Whatever had happened in the month since Harry had fled to Grimmauld Place, something had clearly changed between him and Kreacher. The Elf seemed genuinely concerned about him, and he had referred to the Death Eaters as “bad wizards.” Treacherous as Kreacher had been in the past, his solicitude for Harry’s wellbeing would have to be very well-feigned indeed, and she didn’t think he was that good of an actor.

“Dobby,” she said, “I think we can untie him now.”

At the Elf’s doubtful expression, she added, “He’s hurt and scared, and worried about Harry—I really don’t think he’s a danger to us.”

“He could betray us, Miss,” said Dobby.

“You won’t betray us, will you Kreacher?” Ginny said, turning to him. “You want to help Master Harry, just like we do. I can’t order you, but will you promise to keep our secrets?”

He nodded vigorously. “Kreacher promises, Blood-Traitor, as long as Kreacher doesn’t have to keep secrets from Master Harry. Kreacher will not betray you to the bad wizards.”

“Promise not to speak of this to anyone outside of this room, except Harry.”

“Kreacher promises, and if Kreacher is lying, Blood-Traitor Weasley can chop his head off and _bury_ it.”

From the way he said it, Ginny gathered that it was the burial that was the worst of this sentence; remembering his insistence on keeping the mounted Elf-heads on the wall at Grimmauld Place, she supposed that this was a dire consequence by his standards.

“Alright, then.” She gave Dobby an expectant look.

He shrugged and went to the knots, grumbling. “Dobby doesn’t trust him, Miss. Dobby thinks he is working for Dark wizards.”

“I don’t think so,” said Ginny, watching Kreacher’s expression. “Right, Kreacher, how come you couldn’t find Harry, if you can trace his magic?”

“Master Harry is using powerful spells to conceal himself,” he responded. “He is moving all the time, far away. It takes Kreacher so long to find each place that by the time he gets there, Master Harry is gone. They is too clever for Kreacher,” he ended sadly.

“So why come here?”

“Kreacher cannot return to Grimmauld Place, with the bad wizards there,” he said. “And last year, Master Harry told Kreacher to come to Hogwarts, when he didn’t need him. Kreacher thought, perhaps…” He looked at the floor, sighing. “Master Harry misses his Blood-Traitor,” he whispered. “He talks about her, he thinks about her all the time… Kreacher thought, maybe she would know what to do.”

Ginny swallowed hard, her vision suddenly a little blurry. _Not enough sleep_ , she told herself. “I’m not sure, Kreacher,” she said softly. “I’m not sure that any of us knows what to do.”

Dobby unwound the last of the ropes, and Kreacher stretched out his skinny arms, then leaned forward in his chair. “Blood-Traitor Weasley must help Kreacher,” he insisted. “Kreacher doesn’t know what to do, Kreacher doesn’t want to be caught by the bad wizards. And… Kreacher can’t let his Master down.” His voice trembled. “Not… not again.”

Ginny wondered whether he was referring to Sirius, but let it pass. “Okay,” she said. Her legs were beginning to cramp from crouching so long, so she flopped onto the floor. “Let… let me think, a moment.”

There was silence in the little room for a few moments, filled by the ticking of a clock and the crackle of the fire. After awhile, she said, “I don’t think you should go looking for him, Kreacher. If he wanted—I mean, if he was in trouble, and needed you, he’d call you.”

This wasn’t strictly true—Ginny suspected that if Harry were in trouble, he would probably fail to remember that he could summon Kreacher to him at will. Even if he did remember, he would likely keep silent anyway, sparing the Elf as he had tried to spare Ginny. Or, he might realize how likely it was that Kreacher would be followed—or had even been captured—by the Death Eaters. Hermione, at least, would have figured that much out. And Ginny wasn’t sure how far Harry trusted the Elf, in any case.

Still, it was better not to worry Kreacher any more than he was already. “If Harry needs you, I’m sure he’ll summon you,” she repeated. “In the meantime, you need to stay safe.” She considered a moment. She could send Kreacher to her family, but since they were being watched by the Ministry, that would probably be dangerous. On the other hand, Hogwarts was being run by Death Eaters, so that wasn’t safe, either. Unless….

“Kreacher,” she said, “Would Snape or the Carrows recognize you, do you think?”

The Elf shrugged. “Kreacher doesn’t know any Carrows,” he said. “He is knowing Severus Snape. Master Sirius didn’t like him, but Master Regulus did.”

It was clear from his tone that Master Regulus’s opinion was far more valuable than Sirius’s. Ginny wondered who precisely Regulus was—Sirius’s father? Brother? Hadn’t he had a brother who was a Death Eater, or something? Perhaps Kreacher’s loyalties were a little more complicated than she had supposed.

“Okay, well, Snape is a Death Eater,” she told him. “A bad wizard, who wants to see Master Harry dead—or turned over to You-Know-Who, which is basically the same thing. If he recognized you, it could turn out very badly. But…” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to think clearly, trying to concentrate when all she really wanted to do was return to her nice warm bed, somewhere on the other side of the castle.

“I think Hogwarts is your best bet,” she said finally. “You can blend in with the other House Elves, and I can look out for you a bit—as much as I can. But we’ll need to disguise you.”

“Kreacher doesn’t mind staying at Hogwarts,” he assured her. “Kreacher doesn’t like Dobby, but he trusts him… Dobby is loyal to Master Harry.”

Dobby stared at him for a long moment, then smiled and offered a hand. “Dobby doesn’t like Kreacher either, but if Kreacher is loyal to Harry Potter, then Dobby will help him.”

The two Elves shook hands, while Ginny watched in bemusement. The moment of bonding over, she said, “Right, Dobby, I think you’d better get Zaza. We need to figure out how to hide Kreacher. And we should clean up those wounds,” she added, turning back to Kreacher. “I forgot to ask—how did you get those?”

“Snatchers,” said Kreacher ruefully. “Kreacher ran into them today, while he was searching, and they… they hurt Kreacher.”

“Did they know who you were?”

“No, Blood-Traitor. They was just looking for fun.”

“Merlin. I’m sorry, Kreacher.” She realized, belatedly, that she should have said this first, and tried to make up for it. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Kreacher has had worse, Blood-Traitor.”

“I’ll just bet you have,” she muttered.

The door opened, marking Zaza and Dobby’s return. Ginny didn’t bother to beat around the bush.

“Zaza, I was hoping you could let Kreacher hide out here awhile.” She explained the situation, trying to keep as brief as possible; Dobby could fill in the gaps later, if need be, and she was far too tired to hash over the details at the moment. “So the best place for him right now is Hogwarts,” she finished. “If you’ll let him stay here, of course.”

Zaza paused for long enough that Ginny began to wonder if she’d refuse, and Kreacher started looking nervous again. At last, she said, “Kreacher can stay here, disguised. But we is watching you,” she added to him. “If you puts a foot wrong, we is turning you out on your ear. Understood?”

“Yes,” Kreacher rasped.

“Very well. How is you going to disguise him?” she asked Ginny.

Ginny pulled her wand from her sleeve. “I can do some transformation spells to change your appearance,” she said to Kreacher. “When I’m done, you should be unrecognizable.”

“Is it being… permanent?”

“No. It will probably last about a week, but I can come back and touch it up before then. Or you can find me.” She raised her wand. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, and began to cast.

Fred and George had taught her these spells long ago, when she was twelve and lonely, and being included by her older brothers had felt like a huge treat. They and Lee Jordan had made a game out of transfiguring the others’ appearances and seeing how long it took for them to notice; Ginny held the record, for the time Fred had gone five days without noticing she’d turned the hair on the back of his head blue.

After healing his cuts and bruises, she started with Kreacher’s nose, turning it soft and fleshy; turned his eyes brown, then Vanished the hair in his ears, darkened his skin, and squared his jaw. When she was done, the Elf was unrecognizable—or at least, so she hoped.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Zaza pursed her lips critically. “He’ll do,” she decided. “But he is needing a bath. And clothes.”

Kreacher flinched. “Kreacher doesn’t want clothes,” he protested. “Kreacher belongs to Master Harry.”

“She’s not talking about freeing you,” said Ginny. “But all the other House Elves are wearing clothes now; it’ll look odd if you’re the only one who doesn’t. And as long as it’s not Harry giving you the clothes, what’s the problem?”

“It isn’t proper,” Kreacher argued. “Kreacher _isn’t_ a free elf!”

“If you wants our help, you follow Zaza’s orders,” said Zaza flatly. “You wears clothes like us, or you goes.”

There was a long pause, while Kreacher glared at the floor and muttered a string of invectives; Ginny could just make out the words “my Mistress,” “ashamed,” and “Master Harry.”

“Kreacher,” she said at last, tentatively, “I don’t think Harry would mind you wearing clothes, when it’s just a disguise. He’d be far more upset if the Death Eaters caught you. You can’t serve him if you’re captured, or dead.”

For a moment, she thought perhaps she had gone too far; then his shoulders slumped.

“Blood-Traitor is right,” he admitted. “Kreacher will do what Blood-Traitor Weasley says.”

“And Zaza and Dobby,” Ginny put in.

“And Zaza and Dobby.”

“And could you just call me ‘Ginny’? Or ‘Miss’, if you must.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Okay, great.” She stood up, stretching out the kinks in her back with a groan. “Can you lot handle the rest, or do you need me for anything else?”

“His voice,” said Zaza.

“What about it?”

“It is recognizable,” Dobby said. “Most House Elves doesn’t have such deep voices.”

Kreacher looked nervous. “You is going to change Kreacher’s voice?”

“Or you can pretend to be mute if anyone else is around,” suggested Ginny.

“Weasley needs to change your voice,” Zaza insisted. “You is too obvious.” She folded her arms. “Zaza is not having anyone endangering her staff.”

Again, Kreacher hesitated, and again, he gave in. Ginny had to feel sorry for him; it must be a huge paradigm shift for him, first having Harry as a master, and then taking orders from Zaza.

“Very well,” he whispered. “Kreacher is ready.”

“It’s only temporary, Kreacher,” said Ginny reassuringly. “I used to practice this with my brothers all the time, and we always returned to normal eventually.” She raised her wand. “I need you to say something, okay? Keep talking until I’m done.”

Kreacher nodded, clearing his throat. She had expected him to count off, or possibly to natter on about Master Harry or the Noble House of Black; instead, he began, “Don’t go gently into that good night—Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

His rasping, bull-frog’s voice seemed to ring in the cluttered room, full of the fierce grief of the poet’s words. She realized that she was staring at him with her mouth open, and shook herself, hastily muttering the necessary spells.

“Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they/ Do not go gentle into that good night.”

The hoarseness left his voice, making it unexpectedly rich. He was not merely reciting the words, but interpreting them; the passion in his changing voice was unmistakable, and she had to wonder what significance this particular poem had for the elderly Elf.

“Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright/ Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light…”

She began to make his voice higher, going slowly so as not to hurt his vocal chords.

“Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight/ Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

At last, his voice was perhaps an octave lower than Dobby’s, a reasonable tone for a House Elf. It should have made his recitation comical, but it did not, and she sat back and listened, fascinated, as he finished:

“… there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

“Wow,” she said when at last she’d found her own voice. “Where on earth did you learn Dylan Thomas?”

The Elf ducked his head. “Master Regulus. He liked it.”

“Why?”

Kreacher hesitated. “He said… he said it gave him courage, Blood—Miss. ‘To do the hopeless thing,’ he said.”

She looked at him curiously. “He was Sirius’s brother, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he a Death Eater?”

Again, he hesitated before answering. “He—he was, but… Master Harry says… Master Harry says Master Regulus changed. He—no, that’s secrets, Miss. Kreacher can’t tell.”

She knew better than to pry further, though she was bursting with questions. “Well,” she said, “I’m finished changing your voice, unless you don’t like how it sounds.”

“Kreacher will get used to it, Miss.”

“Right. Then I’m going to bed.”

Dobby stepped forward. “Dobby will take you, Miss.”

“Thanks, Dobby.” She glanced at Kreacher’s changed, anxious face. “You’ll be alright now, Kreacher?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Okay. I’ll come check on you soon. Good night, Zaza.”

“Goodnight, Weasley.”

With one last look at the two of them, she gave Dobby her hand, and with a loud crack, they Disapparated.

Moments later, they appeared in her room, where the occupants were still asleep and unaware, and still under the influence of the _Muffliato_ charm. Ginny sat on the edge of her bed with a sigh. She’d never really gotten along with either Eudora or Vicky, but just now, she felt rather envious of their undisturbed rest and apparent unconcern over the state of the world in general.

_It must be nice to have nothing more to worry about than grades and classes._ She shook her head, realizing her mistake. _They have just as much as to worry about as I do; they just don’t know it yet._

“Miss Wheezy?” Dobby whispered.

“Yes, Dobby?”

“Does you really think Kreacher is changed?”

“Yeah, I do. Merlin knows how.”

“So… you trusts him?”

“Yes, but… there’s trust, and then there’s _trust_.” She met his huge green eyes, knowing he would understand. “I don’t think he means any harm, Dobby, but don’t tell him any more than you can help. And… keep an eye on him, will you?”

“Yes, Miss.” He sounded relieved. “Dobby will make sure he doesn’t do any harm.”

“And see that no harm comes to him?”

“If Dobby can.”

“Thanks, Dobby. You’re the best.” She swept him up in a hug, eliciting a muffled squeak from him. When she drew away, he was beaming.

“Thank you for helping us, Miss. Dobby will see you soon.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Goodnight, Miss.”

“Goodnight.”

There was a crack, and he disappeared. With a long sigh, she pulled off her trainers and dressing gown, and climbed into bed. The clock on her nightstand read four-forty-two. _Merlin._

Tired as she was, she had trouble falling asleep again; her thoughts and worries kept her awake until long after the birds had woken in the darkness outside. When she finally slept, she dreamed of wandering through an empty house, searching for something important, something dear to her, with the last words of Kreacher’s poem ringing ominously in her ears.


	19. Allies and Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as Ginny's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: non-graphic torture, bullying.
> 
> I keep coming back to the idea that Ginny's first several years at Hogwarts were really... not fun. Canonically, she didn't appear to have friends during her first year, and even after that, she didn't become friends with Luna until 4th year. She was probably friends with Neville by 3rd year, since he asked her to the Yule Ball, but... that's still a pretty lonely time. 
> 
> This also deals with something that I always found intriguing in the books, which is that it's implied that Zabini and Ginny know (and dislike) each other.  
> From the Half-Blood Prince:  
> “'A lot of boys like her,' said Pansy, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for a reaction. 'Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!'  
> 'I wouldn’t touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,' said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased."
> 
> and:
> 
> "Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused scepticism. An angry voice burst out from behind Slughorn.  
> ‘Yeah, Zabini, because you’re so talented ... at posing ...’  
> ‘Oh dear!’ chuckled Slughorn comfortably, looking round at Ginny who was glaring at Zabini around Slughorn’s great belly."  
> 
> 
> Since Harry barely knows who Zabini is, but Zabini and Ginny are clearly familiar with each-other, I thought I'd explore that.

The next day was predictably awful. Ginny missed breakfast, dragged through Herbology, and found herself making elementary mistakes in Transfiguration, too distracted and sleepy to pay attention properly. McGonagall, usually quick to criticize when a student flailed about, merely gave Ginny a worried look and told her to take notes on Luna’s work before attempting any more spells on her own. Colin, too, kept glancing at her, but had the sense to keep his concerns to himself until they could talk in private.

In Dark Arts, Carrow had them practicing a Burning Hex, the only point of which seemed to be to cause one’s opponent bitter agony, along with horrible blisters that made Bobotuber Pus look like a skin cream. When they’d read the theory, he called up Ginny and Colin to demonstrate, grinning nastily.

“Let’s see which of you burns first!”

Ginny tried as little as she dared, while Colin bellowed the curse as loudly as possible and somehow missed her every time.

After a few minutes of back and forth, during which the most either of them got was a minor burn, Carrow stopped them.

“Weasley! You’re not trying!”

“Yes I am,” she said, belatedly adding, “Sir. I just don’t seem to be able to get the hang of it.”

“You don’t fool me, Weasley,” he growled. “You just don’t wanna damage yer Mudblood friend’s tender little skin.”

“I—”

“Now, use the curse, and do it proper. Or it’s detention!”

Ginny hesitated, meeting Colin’s eyes.

He gave her a firm nod. “Ready, Ginny,” he said with forced cheerfulness.

Aware of the other students watching, Carrow breathing down her neck, and Colin’s clenched fists as he visibly braced herself, she raised her wand. Her hand trembled slightly. _This is mad._

“ _Do_ it, Weasley!”

She took a breath. Then another. “ _Aestuo_.”

A thin red streak, like a stream of flame, burst out of her wand, hitting Colin square in the chest. He let out only the smallest of gasps, and bent double, clutching his chest.

“Colin?”

“’M… alright,” he managed, and sank to his knees, folding in on himself like a paper fan.

“Colin!” She dropped to the floor beside him, forgetting Carrow’s presence completely.

“It’s… fine… Gin,” he gasped. His face was even paler than usual, but the skin showing above his collar was already turning an angry red.

_I have to do something._ Her hand shook worse than ever as she cast the only healing spell she knew. “ _Percuro_.”

Nothing happened.

“ _Percuro_!”

Still nothing.

She glanced up, and saw Carrow watching with undisguised glee.

“What’s the counter-curse?”

“What makes you think there’s a counter-curse, girly?”

“But—there has to be!” She got to her feet, panic and fury boiling through her. “You can’t make us cast Dark curses and then just—just walk away! Can’t you see he’s in pain?”

“Watch your mouth, girly,” snapped Carrow. “He’s a Mudblood, ain’t he? What do I care?”

“He’s a student, and you’re supposed to be a teacher, you bastard!”

The moment the words left her mouth, Ginny knew she was in trouble. She barely had time to open her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know—before Carrow’s Cruciatus hit.

By the time the class ended, she was trembling, nauseous, and weak, and Carrow had assigned her detention for every night of the next week. She and Ritchie managed to support Colin up to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey grimly applied a cocktail of healing potions and burn creams, muttering about irresponsible professors under her breath.

 

From there, they barely had time to get to their classes—Potions for Ginny, while Ritchie had Divination with Firenze.

The clock in the bell tower was just striking one as Ginny dashed into the classroom, out of breath and feeling as though her legs had turned to marshmallow. Slughorn looked up from his desk, and immediately frowned.

“Ginny, my girl! Come in, you’re very nearly late! And where’s your friend… the Creevence boy?”

“Colin’s in the Hospital Wing, sir.”

“Injured himself, did he?” Slughorn’s tone was jovial, but the searching glance he gave her was far from it.

“In a manner of speaking, sir.” Her hands were still trembling; she stuffed them in her pockets to hide it. “We had Dark Arts just now, and…”

“Ah.” His smile became even more strained, but with ten students in the class—including the Carrow twins, Hestia and Flora—she knew he couldn’t say anything more. “Well, I hope he… er… recovers. Take a seat, Ginny, we’d best get started.”

She sat next to Luna, who already had her potions kit out, and began setting up her cauldron. After Ginny dropped her stirring stick for the third time, Luna gently took it out of her hands.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered. “Is it just Colin, or…?”

“I lost my temper,” Ginny whispered back. “Cruciatus.”

Luna’s eyes widened, but all she said was, “Let me get your things out for you.”

“I can manage.” Ginny pulled her book from her bag, fumbled it, and dropped it on the floor.

Luna Summoned it non-verbally, then gave Ginny a stern look. “Clearly not. You hold still, and take deep breaths. I’ll get your potion ingredients.”

Ginny thought about arguing, but Luna tended to be stubborn once she had an idea in her head, and besides, she had an awful feeling Luna was right. She felt like she was about to be sick.

“Fine. Thanks.”

Luna gave her another concerned look. “Just… count your toes, alright? Don’t try anything until I get back.”

_I’ve only got ten_ , Ginny thought, bemused, but counted anyway. By the time she’d counted to ten four times, Luna was back, and Ginny did, in fact, feel marginally better. She didn’t think she was in immediate danger of vomiting, at any rate.

Her Wiggenweld Potion neither exploded nor melted her cauldron, but that was about the best that could be said of it.

Normally, she had what Slughorn referred to as “an instinctive method of potion-making”; Snape had merely called it “a disaster waiting to happen”. Either way, Ginny treated Potions much like cooking, adding and stirring more by feel than by the book. As far as she could tell, she succeeded about as much as the rest of her classmates, but her potions were usually either perfect or completely disastrous, with no in-betweens.

Today, she was in no mood to experiment. Unfortunately, she wasn’t having much success concentrating on the instructions, either. It was only Luna’s intervention that prevented a major mishap.

When her potion came out looking like spoiled cottage cheese, Slughorn merely patted her shoulder and moved on to the next student without saying a word. At the end of the class, though, he called her back.

“If you could come here for just a moment, Ginny? I want a word about that potion.”

Ginny felt a sinking sensation. _This day just keeps getting better and better_ , she thought.

“Yes, sir.”

Slughorn waited until everyone had left before shutting the door and moving over to her. “Ginny,” he said quietly, “What happened in Dark Arts today?”

She leaned back against her desk, pressing her hands against the surface to hide the fact that they were still trembling. “Professor Carrow had us practicing a Burning Hex, sir. He—uh—he had me… hex Colin.”

“And Mr. Creevence—”

“Creevey.”

“Creevey was so badly injured that he needed the Hospital Wing?” Slughorn looked both aghast and impressed. “I admire your dedication, Ginny, but—”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him!” Ginny burst out. “He wouldn’t tell me the counter-curse!” Too late, she remembered who she was talking to. She hunched her shoulders, looking at the floor. “I lost my temper,” she said more quietly. “Car-- Professor Carrow gave me detention. I— I expect Madam Pomfrey’s patched Colin up by now.”

He was quiet for long enough to make her fidget, though he himself seemed ill-at-ease. At last he said, “Ginny. May I examine your eyes for a moment?”

“My… my eyes?” She looked up, startled. “This… are you trying to do Legilimency?”

“No.” Slughorn looked even more uncomfortable. “I am… concerned for you, Ginny. If I could just—” He pulled a small magnifying glass from his pocket, holding it up. “Do you mind?”

“Okay,” she said, bewildered, and tried not to fidget as he looked at first one of her eyes, then the other.

When he put the glass away again, he looked even more perturbed.

“Ginny,” he said in a shaky voice. “How—how many times have you had the Cruciatus Curse performed on you?”

“Only twice,” she said reassuringly. “I’m fine, Professor, really.”

Slughorn was still staring at her. It was beginning to make her uncomfortable. He glanced at the door, then said in a quick, quiet voice, “I have something for you. I’ve debated whether this was wise, but you—you’re a very talented witch, Ginny, and you could—you could go far, if…” He trailed off, then began again. “You remind me of another student I had. Intuitive, like you.” His voice dropped even lower. "Mug—Muggle-born. Ginny—you need to be careful.”

“I’m trying, Professor,” she said, trying to hide her exasperation. “I am, it’s just…”

He shook his head. “You’re a brave girl, Ginny. Too brave, maybe. But anyway, I have—I’ve been carrying this for a while. I expect you’ll need it.” From his robes, he pulled a small bottle of clear liquid, then another bottle, this one of copper. “Veritaserum Antidote,” he said softly, handing her the clear phial. “And this--" adding the copper bottle-- "it’s a Restorative Draught. A bit stronger than those for sale in the Apothecaries—it won’t heal the effects of the—of the Cruciatus, but—it ought to help.” He paused. “I’m sure I can trust you not to tell anyone.”

“No, Professor.” She stared at the bottles in her hands, heart beating far faster than it should. The antidote to Veritaserum was even more complicated than the potion itself, the ingredients heavily regulated. It also took nearly a year to make. The fact that he’d given it to her meant he knew exactly how much danger she was in. It also meant that she had just gained another ally. “Sir, I—” She swallowed, tried again. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

A look of pain crossed Slughorn’s face. “Don’t. I’m a weak, foolish old man, Ginny. I can’t… I can’t take sides in this. But… you’ve clearly chosen, and… well. It’s the least I can do.”

“Not the least,” she said, still staring at the bottles in her hands. “Not the least at all.”

“Well.” He waved a hand, vaguely, and managed something like a smile. “Keep them hidden, that’s all I ask.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She stowed the potions away in the Extendable sock hidden in her pocket. “Sir, uh… how much do I—I mean, how much does someone have to take? Of the Antidote?”

“Two drops per hour of protection,” he answered. “But don’t take more than five hours’ worth. It will start working within thirty seconds of taking it.”

“Thank you.” Ginny didn’t know what else to say; the enormity of the gift overwhelmed her.

“Least I could do,” he said again, and opened the door. “Well, my dear, I shall see you next week. Don’t forget to work on that Wiggenweld Potion!”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” she added again, and walked away in a daze. _Thank Merlin I don’t have any more classes today,_ she thought as she climbed the stairs. _I don’t think I could handle anything more._

 

It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her when Susan plopped down next to her at dinner.

“You busy tonight?”

Ginny suppressed a groan. “Why do you ask?”

Leaning closer, Susan said quietly, “Astoria needs to talk to you. You know that weird little alcove on the third floor, near the Trophy Room?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet there. Eight o’clock.”

“Circe’s pigs,” Ginny muttered.

Susan raised a pale eyebrow. “Problem?”

“It’s been a long day.”

“So I heard.” She looked Ginny over, assessing. “Are… are you okay?”

“Depends on what you mean by okay,” said Ginny, shrugging. “I’m alive, and Colin’s out of the Hospital Wing, so… yeah. Sure. We’re fine.”

“Dear Merlin, our standards have gotten low.” Susan got up with a sigh. “Well… take care. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Ginny turned back to her pudding, wondering for a moment what would happen if she just left. Fred and George would be only too happy to get her out of here; she could go home, let her parents take care of things. No more Cruciatus, no more secret meetings, no espionage or rebellion or watching her friends get tortured. Someone else could be in charge, someone qualified, and she could be safe….

_No._

The Carrows would still be here, Snape would still be here, and her friends would still be in danger. She couldn’t leave them.

_This is my fight,_ she reminded herself. _And it’s up to me to see it through, all the way to the end._

 

Astoria was waiting for her in the alcove as promised, twisting her hands and looking apprehensive.

“You don’t think anyone followed you, did they?” she asked as soon as Ginny had finished placing anti-eavesdropping spells.

“Yeah, actually,” said Ginny, sitting on the floor. “Crabbe’s been tailing me for about three days now, but he’s pretty easy to put off. I lost him on the fifth floor.”

The other girl stared at her, hands dropping to her sides. “You _are_ being—but—how can you take this so calmly?!”

Ginny let her head thump back against the wall. “I’m not. What did you want, anyway?”

“I…” Astoria took a deep breath, then sat down across from Ginny, folding her legs neatly to the side. “Snape… he’s going to start the—that group Umbridge had, again.”

“The Inquisitorial Squad?”

“Yeah.” Astoria twisted a strand of her long blonde hair around her fingers. “They… they’re recruiting the Slytherins for it. It’ll be announced next week.”

Ginny nodded wearily. She’d been expecting something like this. Gryffindor still didn’t have any Prefects, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff didn’t have their full complement, either; with Slytherin the only House to have all six Prefects, there was already a power imbalance between the Houses. In the face of the D.A.’s resistance, it only made sense for Snape to attempt to increase his control.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Astoria commented.

“No, not really. Snape hasn’t really done much to stop us, other than interrogating me every week. I honestly thought he’d crack down before this.”

“Oh.” Astoria looked down at the floor. “I guess… this wasn’t really useful, then.”

Ginny stared at her in genuine surprise. “What? No! It’s very helpful! I’ve been expecting something, but… now I know what, and… well, sort of when.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you know who, do you?”

She nodded, brightening again. “Not everyone, but… I’ve been listening, and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Brilliant! Who?”

Astoria tucked her hair behind her ear, straightening her posture as though about to give a report in class. “Draco Malfoy—”

“Obviously.”

“Pansy Parkinson, Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle, Ed Harper…” Astoria counted off on her fingers. “Millicent Bullstrode, Ebenezer Grint, Nadia Pierce…”

“All Slytherins,” Ginny noted.

“Oh, there are some others, too,” said Astoria grimly. She listed off three Ravenclaws and two Hufflepuffs, all Fifth and Fourth Years. “And then there’s Marietta Edgecombe—she’s a Ravenclaw—and Vicky Frobisher.”

“ _What_?”

“I thought you wouldn’t like that.”

“Vicky… are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Sixth Year Gryffindor? Tall, short brown hair?”

“Yes.”

Ginny flopped back against the wall, stunned. “Bloody hell.”

Astoria looked at her in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I…” Ginny rubbed a hand over her forehead, angry and bewildered. _AM I okay? I never even liked Vicky… so why do I feel so betrayed?_

She knew why, though; for all the times Vicky and Eudora had ignored her, or stared at her second-hand clothes, or laughed at the way she spoke, they were still connected to her, if only by proximity. They’d slept in the same room, eaten at the same table, and taken the same classes, for six years; shared homework answers, known of each-others' crushes, and pretended not to notice when one of the others snuck out-- or in-- after curfew.

 Sure, they’d never been close. Yes, she’d often felt like an intruder into the other girls’ cheerful clique. But she’d never thought that one of her own roommates would agree to, essentially, spy on her. _Because that’s the only reason they’d let a Gryffindor in in the first place,_ she realized with a sinking feeling. _It’s an easy way to get to me, and they_ know _I’m in the D.A. I’m probably the only person they’re sure of, apart from Neville. And there’s no way in hell they’re recruiting Seamus._

“Ginny?”

She looked up, and pasted an insincere smile on her face. “It’s fine, Astoria. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Is there anyone else?”

“Um…” Astoria frowned in thought, counting again. “Oh, hang on. I forgot Blaise Zabini.”

Ginny's stomach twisted unpleasantly. “Fucking Zabini,” she muttered.

Astoria looked surprised. “You have something against Blaise?”

“He’s a bloody buggering git, that’s all.”

“You sound as if you hate him.”

“So? He’s one of Malfoy’s cronies, I don’t see why you’re surprised.”

“It’s just that…” She hesitated. “Blaise doesn’t go in much for House politics. I didn’t think—I mean, I’m just surprised that you know him well enough to feel so strongly about him, that’s all.”

Ginny scowled. “Yes, well… if he hadn’t been such a bludgering idiot…”

“Something happened?” prodded Astoria.

She bit her lip. She probably shouldn’t talk about it, especially not to a Slytherin, but… _oh, what the hell_ , she thought. _It’s not exactly a secret, anyway._ “It was the Yule Ball,” she said at last. “I don’t know if you went—most Third Years didn’t—”

“No,” said Astoria. “I wasn’t invited.”

“Okay,” said Ginny. “Well, Neville invited me, so I went. And… um… Zabini asked me to dance. It wasn’t, like, romantic, or anything,” she added quickly, before Astoria could say anything. “It was just—I mean, I was thirteen, I still had a crush on Harry, but it was fun, really fun, and we ended up—we danced a few dances together, and he was good at it, and it was… it was fun. I had a good time. And then…” She scowled, picking at a loose thread in her robes with unwonted viciousness. “I guess some of the other Slytherins—okay, who am I kidding, it was probably fucking Malfoy, because he’s _obsessed_ —were giving Zabini shit about it. Which, I mean, I understand. If he just sort of… you know, pretended it never happened, or whatever, I would’ve been okay with it—I hardly knew him, anyway. But that’s not what he did.”

“What did he do?”

Ginny glared at the wall above Astoria’s head, angry all over at the injustice of it; at the fact that it still _hurt_ , all these years later… 

“He got me to meet up with him this one day after class—only he’d gotten a bunch of Slytherins to hide out there. And when I went to meet him, they ambushed me.” The thread snapped in her hands, and she tossed it away, drumming her fingers on her knee instead. “They grabbed my wand and Petrified me. I was… terrified. I thought they were going to kill me. And then Zabini goes on this whole thing about how I was just a—a Blood-Traitor, and made out that I was… you know… that I liked him, and he called me a… a slut, and a whole lot of other things—and they poured something—some kind of goop— on my robes. And left me there.”

“I’m so sorry.” Astoria’s voice was laden with sympathy.

Ginny looked away from her, wishing she hadn’t said anything. The whole thing was pathetic—just another mishap in a long line of stupid, pathetic things that had happened to stupid, pathetic little Ginny Weasley. _Not anymore,_ she told herself firmly. _No more Tom Riddles, no Blaze Zabinis. I’m not helpless anymore, and I won’t let it happen again._

“Yeah, well,” she muttered. “That’s why I don’t like Zabini.”

The humiliation had been bad enough; just as bad had been Fred and George finding her half-an-hour later, and rescuing her. She’d sworn them to secrecy, but she’d had to tell Mum about her ruined robes, and endure her scolding for carelessness. _“Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know!”_ Sometimes, she thought that ought to be the Weasley family motto. They repeated it often enough.

“I wouldn’t like him either,” said Astoria. “That was a really horrid thing to do.”

“Yeah, well. It’s over now.” Ginny shrugged, trying, and failing, to brush it off. “I… you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Astoria smiled crookedly. “Who would I tell?”

 


	20. The Unbreakable Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny visits Kreacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, finally! And guess what... it's more House Elf shenanigans. I just really like the House Elves, okay??

Between Quidditch, homework, and the D.A, Ginny didn’t make it to the kitchens until after dinner on Saturday, evading Vicky Frobisher with the help of the Creevey brothers, a Disillusionment Charm, and one of Fred and George’s Vanishing Tripwires. The fact that Vicky was suddenly following her around for no apparent reason was evidence enough that Astoria had been right. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

No, fuck that—she knew _exactly_ how she felt about it. She was angry, and betrayed, and if Vicky thought she was going to become one of Snape’s toadies and get away with it, she had another think coming.

Ginny was still simmering when she finally managed to slip inside the bustling kitchen. She stood still for a moment, making sure that no one else was there, before removing the Disillusionment Charm.

Several House Elves jumped in alarm as she appeared, one of them nearly falling over.

“Sorry!” Ginny said hastily, reaching out to steady the Elf in question. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you—”

“What is you up to now, Weasley?” demanded a voice from nearby, and she turned to see Zaza scowling at her. “We has enough to do without silly pranks.”

“I’m not pulling a prank,” Ginny reassured her hastily. “I just didn’t want to get caught coming down here.”

The Elf relaxed. “That’s alright, then.”

“Is everything okay down here? You seem a little… on edge.”

“Those wizards was here again today,” she said darkly. “Being nosy, asking questions. Zaza was having to tell them lots of lies to get them away.” She hunched her shoulders a little, looking unhappy. “House Elves doesn’t like telling lies, Weasley. We isn’t meant for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny repeated, touching her shoulder. “I—are you okay, though? Nobody got hurt?”

“Yes, yes, we is all fine. No one injured.”

“And—and…” She lowered her voice. “Kreacher?”

“He is still here,” she said flatly. “We is not revealing your secret.”

She drew a relieved breath. “Thanks.”

“We keep our promises, Weasley.”

“I didn’t doubt you,” said Ginny. At Zaza’s dubious expression, she added, “I never doubted that you would try to protect him—and me—but I know what they’re like, Zaza. They’ve used the Cruciatus and Veritaserum on me—and Legilimancy—and there’s nothing stopping them from using those on you, too. I wouldn’t blame you if you—if something slipped, under those circumstances.”

Zaza shook her head. “We is skilled in Occlumency, Weasley, and Veritaserum doesn’t work on us. We can probably keep your secrets better than you.”

“Oh. Well… I’m glad you’re… you’re all okay.”

Zaza merely nodded, and there was a moment of silence before Ginny remembered what she’d actually come here for.

“Is Kreacher around? I wanted to check in with him.”

“Kreacher is being in our quarters, Weasley. Come with Zaza.”

 

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she entered the Elves’ Hall (accessed by placing a hand on a particular stone in the wall of the kitchen); her interaction with Kreacher a few nights previously had had a dreamlike quality to it, and she honestly wasn’t sure how much of what she had inferred at the time was accurate. She was pretty sure she didn’t expect Kreacher’s face to light up when he saw her, or for him to come hurrying over.

“Bl—Miss Weasley! Kreacher has been wondering when you would come. Is you wanting anything to eat or drink?”

“Uh,” she said, staring. It wasn’t just the attitude that had changed—he was now wearing a pair of swim trunks for trousers, with a Hogwarts tea-towel as a sort of smock on his torso. He was also wearing a pair of knobbly, hand-knitted (and mismatched) socks, which she was pretty sure were of the Hermione vintage.

“Is Miss Weasley being alright?” he asked, looking up at her with concern. “Is there… bad news?”

“No,” she said, pulling herself together. “No, everything’s fine, Kreacher. I just—I just wanted to see how you were.”

Kreacher gave her an odd look, like she’d said something exceedingly strange. “Don’t worry, Miss. Kreacher is not giving away your secrets. Or Master Harry’s.”

“Yeah,” said Ginny slowly. “I wasn’t… I know that, Kreacher. What I mean is, are you okay? Are you… do you feel alright?”

The elf looked even more confused. “Kreacher has not been detected,” he told her earnestly. “Kreacher is doing what you said.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, wondering how to get her meaning across. The idea that she might be concerned with his wellbeing was clearly alien to him. “Are the… the other elves treating you alright?”

He hesitated. “They is being very polite,” he said at last.

_But not friendly,_ she guessed, reading between the lines. _And why should they be? They’ve got to remember what he was like when he worked here last year._

“Miss Weasley?”

“Yeah?”

Kreacher looked at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his tea-towel. “Kreacher thinks maybe he should go.”

“Go?” she repeated, baffled. “Go where?”

He played with the towel some more. “Kreacher thought… Kreacher is thinking… Master Harry might be in danger.”

_He’s the most wanted man in Britain_ , she thought. _The entire Ministry is looking for him. Voldemort wants to kill him. And you think he_ might _be in danger?_

“Go on,” she said aloud, as neutrally as possible.

“Well…” He looked up at her, an anguished expression on his transfigured face. “What if he needs Kreacher, and Kreacher is letting him down? Kreacher doesn’t want—if Master Harry—if something happened—”

“Kreacher,” she said, as gently as possible. “We talked about this, remember? You don’t know what he’s doing, what he’s planning. If you’re looking for him, and you’re followed—you’ll be putting both of you at risk.”

“But… but Kreacher has to do _something!_ ” His voice rose to something approaching a wail. “Kreacher can’t—Kreacher doesn’t—Kreacher tried to follow orders last time, he did what Master Regulus said, and M—M-Master Regulus—and if—if Master Harry doesn’t—if he—”

Tears rolled down his face, and he folded in on himself, sobbing.

Ginny, feeling rather alarmed, hesitantly patted him on the back. “It’s—it’s okay, Kreacher. It’s going to be okay. Harry won’t—Harry knows what he’s doing. He’ll come back to us, when… when he’s finished. Whatever he’s doing.”

“But he can’t,” whispered Kreacher. “The Dark Lord is too powerful, and they doesn’t know how to—” He broke off. “Bad Kreacher,” he muttered. “Bad Elf.”

“Kreacher—”

“Kreacher is a bad Elf,” he said, more tears leaking from his eyes. “Kreacher failed Master Regulus, and now he is f-f-failing M-master Harry, and—and—”

 She patted him on the back some more, remembering running through the halls of the Department of Mysteries, curses flying around her in the darkness; the terrible fear on Harry’s face as they tiptoed down the rows of prophecy-orbs, his confusion and panic when Sirius wasn’t there. Their horror when they realized it was all a trap… Lucius Malfoy’s voice, cold behind his grey mask… _Give me the prophecy, or watch your friends die._

She remembered looking into the mad eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange, and feeling Neville’s arm trembling next to hers, and knowing they were about to die. And then they hadn’t died, but Sirius was gone, and Harry had gone about with the blank look of someone who’s still functioning only because they’ve forgotten how to do anything else.

Ginny had grieved, too. She hadn’t known Sirius as well as Harry, of course, but she had liked him—had pitied him, too, cooped up in that horrible, dark house with only a mad old portrait and a mad old House Elf for company, and nothing interesting or particularly useful to do. They’d arrived in his kitchen that one Christmas, cold and bewildered and so damned _scared_ , and Sirius had tried so hard to make them welcome.

_Back again, the Blood-Traitor brats? Is it true their father’s dying?_

And Sirius had thrown Kreacher out, and he had gone to Bellatrix and the Malfoys….

_A bad Elf,_ she thought dully, handing him a handkerchief. _Yeah, Kreacher, but not for the reasons you think._

“Kreacher wants to help Master Harry,” he whispered, blowing his nose. “But Kreacher isn’t knowing how.”

The idea that had been percolating in her mind for the past few days nudged itself to the fore again. _We need someone who can get in and out of Hogwarts without being detected, some way to get supplies…_ Ginny hesitated for one long moment, then made up her mind. “Kreacher… I think… there is something you could do.”

The Elf perked up immediately. “What is it, Miss?”

“Harry is trying to defeat You-Know-Who, right?”

He gave her a doleful look. “Kreacher isn’t allowed to say that, Miss.”

“Okay, but you know the answer to that question, right?”

He nodded.

“So, anything you do to fight—Him—would be helping Harry.”

There was a pause, while he appeared to mull this over; then he nodded again, making his ears flap. “That is true!”

“I think I know of something you can do,” she said carefully. “But I need to know I can trust you.”

This time, Kreacher barely needed to think at all. “Oh, that’s easy, Miss. Kreacher will make an Unbreakable Vow!”

Ginny blinked. “An Unbreakable Vow? Really?”

“Yes, Miss!” He positively radiated enthusiasm. “Then you can trust Kreacher, and Kreacher can help Master Harry!”

“… Huh.” She eyed him warily. “I didn’t know House Elves could make Unbreakable Vows.”

“We mostly doesn’t need to, Miss—after all, we is already bound to our Masters’ will. But as long as our Vows doesn’t contradict our Masters, they works for us just like with wizards.”

She frowned. “What if your Master directs you to do something that contradicts the Vow?”

“Then the Vow breaks, Miss. The House Elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding.”

Once again, Ginny felt a deep sympathy for Hermione’s campaign for Elfish rights. There was nothing admirable about enslaving sentient beings this way. _Deal with the problem at hand_ , she reminded herself. “Okay, Kreacher. I’m just going to check in with Zaza and Dobby about this, okay? And then we can do this, if you still want to.”

“Kreacher won’t change his mind, Miss,” he assured her. “Kreacher wants to help Master Harry.”

 

Ten minutes and two intense conversations later, Ginny and Kreacher knelt on the floor of the Elves’ Hall, while Dobby touched a bony finger to their joined hands.

“Begin,” he squeaked.

Ginny had a moment of panic at the gravity and ridiculousness of this situation— _making an Unbreakable Vow to a House Elf!_ —but swallowed down the hysterical laughter trying to bubble up in her throat. _You can do this._

“Do you, Kreacher, promise not to reveal any of my, or the D.A’s, secrets to anyone I haven’t expressly permitted you to tell?”

“Kreacher promises.”

A thread of brilliant silver light wound itself around their joined hands, making her skin tingle.

“Do you promise to alert me if you have any hint that I, or the D.A., might be in danger that we don’t know about?”

“Kreacher promises.”

A second ribbon joined the first, the glow now so bright as to be blinding.

“And do you promise not to betray us, by word or action, to the best of your ability?”

“Kreacher promises.”

The third, and final, rope appeared, and for a moment, their hands were entirely bathed in silver. Then the glow vanished, and the two separated, blinking the spots from streaming eyes.

Ginny shook out her hands, the odd buzzing feeling still crawling over her skin. “Wow. That was… I’ve never done that before.”

“It is being old magic, Miss,” said Dobby. “Even wizards rarely use it.”

“I can see why.” She blinked again, vision finally returning to normal in the wake of the bright lights. “Okay, Kreacher. There’s a place in Diagon Alley I need you to Apparate to, without being seen. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, Miss. What does you want Kreacher to do?”

She grinned. “I need you to pick up some supplies.”

***

_Hey, bros. Finally found a way to smuggle stuff in (and out) of here. Expect a visitor tonight. 12 am_

_Bloody hell, sis. You couldn’t have mentioned it was bloody KREACHER??_

_Where would be the fun in that? Thx, by the way. I owe peeves more dungbombs_

_Do we even want to know?_

_Nope_

_Merlin’s pants, ginny_

_OK fine. Sending your bloody elf back now_

_Thx, ur the best!_

_And don’t you forget it_

_Now go to sleep, you’re scaring us_

_Love you_

_Love you too_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A House Elf's highest law is his Master's bidding" is a direct quote from Deathly Hallows. Kreacher says it to Harry when explaining how he got away from the Inferi.   
> Dumbledore mentions using Legilimancy on Kreacher in Order of the Phoenix, so House Elves aren't necessarily immune to it, but I figured the Hogwarts Elves... aren't ordinary Elves. Also, I highly doubt the Carrows can do Legilimancy anyway.  
> Dobby doesn't need a wand to perform an Unbreakable Vow because House Elf Magic! *waves hands*. I also decided to make the UV look a little different from in the books (when Bellatrix performs it on Snape, it's described as a fiery rope), because I imagine that House Elf magic would look (and feel) different. I also headcanon that it's far more powerful and intuitive (hence the blinding brightness of Dobby's spell).


	21. The Perks of Leadership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny takes on even MORE responsibility. Oh, great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so disjointed-- hopefully the next few chapters will be more coherent!

“Um… Ginny? Ginny Weasley?”

Ginny looked up from her essay on Gamp’s Second Law of Transfiguration to see a small boy standing in front of her, shifting from foot to foot. A couple of equally small girls hovered behind him, giving him meaningful looks and nudges.

“Yeah?”

“Er… we…”

“Go on, Reginald,” one of the girls hissed.

The boy visibly steeled himself. “One of the toilets is blocked.”

Ginny blinked. “Excuse me?”

“In the loo,” he explained, gesturing toward the door at the end of the Common Room. “One of the toilets is blocked.”

“Okaaay,” she said, still bemused. “Why are you telling me?”

This seemed to flummox him. “Because… because…”

“Because we haven’t any prefects, and you’re the Quidditch Captain, so you’re the closest we’ve got,” piped up one of the girls.

Ginny scowled. “No. Oh, no. I am not doing this. If I don’t get the perks of a prefect, there is no way I’m taking on the responsibilities. If something needs fixing, go get McGonagall. Or Filch.”

The girl scowled right back. “It’s after curfew. If we go find McGonagall now, the Carrows’ll probably catch us.”

“Well, can’t it wait until morning, then?”

“It’s the loo _everyone uses_ ,” Reginald protested. “It stinks!”

Across from her, Seamus made a loud snort that he tried to turn into a cough. Neville covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking, while Colin was turning bright red with suppressed laughter.

“Go on, Gin,” said Colin in a strained voice. “We can’t have a blocked loo.”

“F-screw you, Colin. There’s no reason the rest of you can’t deal with this.”

“I don’t know how,” they all said at once.

Ginny stared at them, then at the hopeful cluster of First Years, and finally threw up her hands in disgust. “Okay! Okay, but this is _one time_ , alright? I am _not_ making a habit of this.”

“Whatever you say, Gin,” said Neville, snickering.

“Yeah,” added Seamus. “Go save the loo.”

“Be the…” Colin began laughing helplessly, wriggling around in his chair like a kid. “Be the change you wish to see in the world!”

“I hate you all,” Ginny told them, standing. “C’mon, Neville.”

Neville’s laughter immediately turned to alarm. “What? Why me?”

“I’m not doing this by myself, and unlike Colin, you can do a Bubble-Head Charm without asphyxiating yourself.”

“That was _one time_!” Colin protested.

“I still don’t see—”

“Up,” she said, kicking him in the shin. “Come on. Now.”

“You’re scary,” Neville muttered, but he followed her, rubbing his shin and grumbling.

The blocked toilet was just as gross as Ginny had feared, but at least the Bubble-Head Charms prevented the smell from getting to them.

“Right,” said Ginny. “The spell is _Deobstruere_. You do the toilet bowl, I’ll do the U-bend. Ready?”

“Ugh, this is so gross. Okay, I’m ready.”

“On the count of three, then. One—two—three—”

“ _Deobstruere_!”

There was a pop, followed by a loud sucking sound, and the toilet began to drain. Ginny Vanished the rest of the contents of the bowl, and grimaced at Neville.

“There. Let’s just give it a good Scourgify, then…”

 

With the toilet cleaned and their hands thoroughly washed, the two of them returned to their seats by the fire, where Colin and Seamus were still giggling over the whole incident like a couple of First Years.

“You can laugh now,” said Ginny, “but I’m teaching you two how to do this stuff, too. I’m not getting stuck with permanent toilet duty just because you blokes are useless at household charms.”

Their laughter stopped abruptly.

“Ginny, no!” Colin whined. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Col, it’s good practice for the future. What happens when you’re on your own, and you don’t even know how to unblock a toilet?”

Colin gave her a funny look. “I’ll use a plunger? How do you know these spells, anyway? We definitely didn’t go over toilet-fixing in Charms.”

“Fleur’s mum,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. “She taught me a bunch of stuff during the Great Wedding Cleaning Frenzy this summer.”

“But you aren’t allowed to use magic at home…?”

“Yeah, well, apparently the age is lower in France. ‘But zat is nonsense, Ginevra,’” she said, imitating Madam Delecour’s throaty voice. “‘In France, we do not have zese ridiculous restrictions on young witches and wizards. ‘Ow will you _learn_?’”

“She’s right, you know,” said Seamus. “It is a bit ridiculous that we can’t do magic at home.”

“Take it up with the Ministry,” Ginny said sarcastically. “Anyway, don’t think you’re getting out of learning household spells.”

Neville shrugged. “I’ve got no objections. Be dead useful, won’t they?”

“Yeah…” Colin agreed. “But if you think that’s gonna stop all the Firsties from coming to you with their problems, Ginny, you’ve got another think coming.”

Seamus nodded. “Yeah, now that they all know you’re a soft touch…”

“Oh, shut up, you,” retorted Ginny. The problem was, she had a feeling they were right.

***

It was a little past midnight, and the hallway was deserted. Ginny had chosen the stretch of wall where Tom Riddle had once made her write her own death sentence; it felt symbolic. Checking over her shoulder once again to make sure no one was coming, she raised her wand, muttered Luna’s paint spell, and wrote:

SAY THEIR NAMES

The letters gleamed silver, each about a foot high. In slightly smaller print, she added a second line:

HONOR THE DEAD. FIGHT FOR THE MISSING. PROTECT THE VULNERABLE.

Now came the hard part. On the left side of the wall, she started a list:

Alastor (Mad-Eye) Moody

Albus Dumbledore

Amelia Bones

Artemis Belby

Cedric Diggory

Charity Burbage

Emmaline Vance

Sirius Black

She went on, listing those who had been killed by Voldemort or his followers, then added a second column for the missing. When she was finished, the wall showed over forty names. It wasn’t comprehensive—just the people she knew of without doing serious research. It would have to do.

A sound had her ducking into the shadow of the stairwell, where her Disillusionment Charm would hide her from prying eyes. She held her breath as someone came down the stairs above her.

It was Snape. He stopped in front of the wall for a long moment, then did something with his wand. Nothing happened. He waved his wand again. Still nothing. About a minute went by, while Ginny tried not to breathe, and then he turned on his heel and stalked past her toward the Great Hall. In the bad light, his face gave nothing away.

Ginny waited until his footsteps receded, then hurried back to her dormitory. She had no desire to get caught.

 

Over the next few days, the idea caught on. The list on the wall grew longer and longer, and people began adding messages around it:

“In Memory of Dalia Turner, brilliant witch and beloved mother. Killed by Death Eaters, 14/6/1998.”

“HUFFLEPUFFS AGAINST YOU-KNOW-WHO”

“Justice for Professor Burbage”

“REMEMBER CEDRIC DIGGORY”

“Make Dumbledore Proud—Punch a Death Eater!”

“WHICH SIDE ARE YOU ON?”

"Your silence will not protect you!"

And, by far the most often repeated, “SUPPORT HARRY POTTER!”

Luna’s spell continued to hold up against all attempts to remove the paint, and the graffiti spread to other parts of the castle—names of the dead, anti-Voldemort slogans, and messages of support for Harry Potter and Dumbledore’s Army. Like Fred and George’s fireworks, attempts to Vanish the slogans just caused them to multiply.

It was a small gesture, but Ginny could see its impact on her fellow students: their resolve hardened, the will to fight burning just a little brighter. The messages on the walls reminded all of them what they were fighting for, and that they weren’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Which side are you on?" was a popular slogan with the American pro-union movement, starting in the 30s and regaining popularity in the 70s. "Say their names" is one of the slogans used by the Black Lives Matter movement, but it seemed appropriate here. "Your silence will not protect you" is a quote by Audre Lorde. And of course, "Punch a Death Eater" was inspired by "Punch a Nazi."  
> "Be the change you wish to see in the world" is generally attributed to Ghandi, but there's no record of him actually saying that... it's more of a paraphrase/slogan.


End file.
